


The Princess Maid

by Isaac Heller (Kressel)



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Antisemitism, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Canon Jewish Character, Dwarves, Episode: s01e08 Desperate Souls, Episode: s01e12 Skin Deep, Episode: s02e19 Lacey, Episode: s04e12 Heroes and Villains, Episode: s04e24 Family Business, Episode: s05e17 Her Handsome Hero, Episode: s06e04 Strange Case, Episode: s06e09 Changelings, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Homosexuality, Jewish Identity, Ogre Wars (Once Upon a Time), Pacifism, Rumbelle - Freeform, Victorian Attitudes, colette's death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 78,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23229805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kressel/pseuds/Isaac%20Heller
Summary: Belle and Rumpelstiltskin are more than just Beauty and the Beast. They're a power couple with a cosmic mission. As they struggle to balance Light and Darkness in their relationship, the realms follow their lead. Though some readers might call this story an Alternate Universe, it sticks close to the canon timeline and dialogue, so I say it's more of an alternative interpretation. The story opens when Belle is returning to her father's palace after her secret trip to Arendelle.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 253
Kudos: 41





	1. The Tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, friends! Though most readers of this story will be fans of the TV series "Once Upon A Time," I know that many of my real-life friends sometimes check out my story, too, and they aren't necessarily fans. For anyone unfamiliar with the series, I've added links to the video clips that my scenes are based on. In this chapter, you'll see that my protagonist, Belle, blames herself for something that happened to her friend Anna. The full explanation will come later. Please comment at the end if anything else is unclear. Thank you.

“Rise and shine, princess!” called a gruff, male voice, jolting Belle out of her not-so-peaceful sleep. For a moment, she was completely disoriented.

“Who’s that?” she wondered. “Where are we? What time is it?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and it all came flooding back. The man had called her “Princess.” Did that mean he knew who she was? Was her cover blown? Had her father sent soldiers out in search of her?

“Oh, what have I done?” she thought, despairingly. The kingdom needed every defense it could muster. Nobody should go unprotected for her sake. “This journey has been nothing but mistake after mistake!” she chided herself. “I _must_ find a way to finish it heroically.”

The man whose voice had woken her was merely the driver of the carriage she had hired to bring her home after her ship ride from Arendelle. He was not one of her father’s soldiers at all. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have the slightest notion he was addressing Princess Belle of Avonlea.

“The inn’s right there, miss,” he said, pointing to a wide stone house bustling with activity. “If you want to get home by nightfall tomorrow, then we’ll have to set off again at sunrise. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you,” she answered, gathering her belongings. He handed her down from the carriage, but there were no servants at the ready to take her pack or see to her needs.

“Well, this is what I wanted,” she told herself. “To see the world beyond the palace.”

The driver walked over to the innkeeper, and the two clapped each other on the back like old friends. Belle entered the inn alone. In the foyer stood a woman she assumed was the innkeeper’s wife. There were keys all around her, and behind her was a staircase leading to the rooms. On the left was a noisy tavern, and Belle peered inside with great curiosity. She had never been inside a real tavern before.

“A tavern is no place for a lady,” her governess would have said.

“Which is why I will see it now while I have the chance,” her mind answered defiantly.

She arranged for her room, received a key, and entered the busy tavern. It was alive with people eating, drinking, and laughing. Dwarves, dusty and sweaty from their work in the mines, sat in groups of eight, joking amongst each other. Harried barmaids carried trays from the tables to the kitchen and back again. And a tall man in an enormous cloak was roaming among the customers, talking to anyone who’d give him the time. When he turned in her direction, Belle could see that every inch of his cloak had a trinket or bauble pinned to it. But something about this man told her he was no ordinary peddler.

“A pirate!” she thought in morbid fascination. “He’s probably seen the whole world!”

“He’s probably robbed the whole world,” came a voice of caution in her head. It sounded just like Father.

She heeded the internal warning and sat down at an empty table near the dwarves. If she was going to see more of the world, she’d be safer starting with those admirable creatures. She’d read all about their honor code and their industriousness. She was too shy to strike up a conversation with them, but sitting near them meant she could at least watch, listen, and learn.

The smells of food wafting around the room suddenly made her feel famished. She ordered a bowl of stew and a pint of ale. She’d never tasted ale before. She’d only ever been allowed to have wine, and then only at ceremonial dinners. But she liked it, perhaps a little too much. Wine made her light-headed and loosened her tongue. The ale would probably do the same. She resolved to keep her wits about her.

The barmaid brought over her meal, and Belle tucked into it with gusto. Hunger truly was the greatest spice. The stew was the plainest dish she had ever been served, yet somehow, the most satisfying thing she’d ever eaten.

After her first sip of ale, which was bitterer than she’d imagined, the pirate hawking his wares made his way to her. “Aye, how ‘bout a present for yerself, lassie? Ye don’ need a bloke to buy one fer ye!” He gave his cloak a shake, and everything on it jangled.

“No jewelry, thank you. But I do have a long way to travel tomorrow. Perhaps you have some books?”

“Aye!” he laughed, giving his cloak another shake. At least seven books spilled out from hidden pockets inside it. They were now strewn in front of her on the table.

Belle’s eyes widened. “Is that genie magic? Why, that cloak must come all the way from Agrabah!”

“Well, aintchya a clever one with book larnin’ n’all!”

Belle looked over the titles before her. All romantic stories, the sort designed to make young women sigh and pine for their own Prince Charmings.

“Do you have any histories, perhaps?”

“No promises. Not a big seller, ye know.”

This time, he twirled around full circle, and the romances flew back into whatever hidden pockets they had come from. Two different books replaced them on the table. One was brand new and quite thick, the recently revised edition of _King Leopold, Fairest in the Land._ Belle had already read it. The other book was so old and tattered, some of the letters of the title were fading.

“But sometimes the best book has the dustiest jacket,” she said quietly to herself, picking it up to examine it.

She let out a gasp. It was called _Heroes of the Ogre Wars._ It felt like a stroke of fate!

She turned to the Table of Contents. Each chapter was written by a different author and was dedicated to the story of a war hero. All were familiar names and legends that every schoolchild in the realm would recognize. But the final name on the list belonged to someone notorious. Belle had read and heard of him, but always in a cautionary tale, never as a hero. This was a wholly new context. _Rumpelstiltskin and the End of the First Ogres War._

Her eyes scanned across the page to the name of the author. That was equally surprising. Madam Morraine.

“A woman!” she thought, her hopes rising by the minute. There weren’t many female authors of history. Women writers, like women readers, were expected to stick with the domestic themes of love and marriage, not grapple with the broader issues facing humanity.

“But a woman’s touch is exactly what this horrific mess needs,” she thought. “With any luck, a woman as wise as Mother and not a bungler like me.”

“Yer a collector, I see!” said the pirate, noting her interest. “That one’s a rare get, that is.”

Belle knew he was bluffing. A minute ago, he might just as easily have tossed the book away as sold it. But now he was eyeing her fur-trimmed collar, trying to guess just how much silver lay in her purse.

“I’m not a collector, really,” she lied, remembering the cover story she’d invented for the journey. “I’m just a governess on my way back to work. But it does look interesting. I think my pupils will benefit from some first-hand accounts of the wars.”

“Arr, enough natterin’ then. Let’s get down to business. Five silver pieces.”

Belle knew she was expected to bargain with him, but she saw no need. He named his price, and he probably just picked it out of the air. So, without a word of argument, she counted out exactly the sum he asked for and handed it to him.

The coins clinked in the pirate’s pocket as a grin spread across his face. But when he turned around, he realized he could have asked for as much as twenty pieces and still gotten it. He walked away, cursing under his breath. Little did he know, Belle would have spent even more than that. She would have given away everything she owned if it meant the ogres would leave poor Avonlea alone.

Belle looked over her purchase, eager to settle into her room upstairs and get started on it, but as she finished up her stew, one of the dwarves from the next table sat down beside her, an urgent look on his face.

He leaned in close and said softly, “Not a very experienced traveler, are ya.”

Belle suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re wearing the finest clothes of anyone in the tavern, and you spent way too freely with that pirate.”

Belle glanced over at the pirate, who was standing at a different table, chatting up his next customer.

“Word is that he’s a boatswain on the Jolly Roger,” the dwarf continued. “All pirates are scoundrels, but Captain Hook’s are the worst. You’ll need extra protection tonight.”

“I had no idea,” said Belle, feeling foolish. “But are you sure the Jolly Roger is real? There are so many contradictory stories about Neverland.”

“Oh, it’s as real as you and me. Here. Take this.”

He pressed a small, sackcloth pouch into her hand. As she closed her fingers around it, the crystal on her necklace immediately warmed up. That told her what was in the pouch.

“Fairy dust?” she asked.

“Exactly,” said the dwarf. “Sprinkle it around your door and windows. Guaranteed to keep out intruders.”

“Thank you,” she said, putting the pouch in her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“What do you take me for? I wouldn’t charge for fairy dust! My payback will come in goodwill.”

It was the dwarf honor code in action. Belle was grateful to be the recipient of it.

“Then as an act of goodwill, may I buy you and your friends drinks?”

“On behalf of our brother, we accept!” answered one of the other dwarves. He waved over the barmaid.

Belle didn’t order a second drink for herself. She hadn’t even finished the first one. She didn’t plan on speaking to the dwarf for much longer anyway. She had history to research and a carriage to catch in the morning.

“The name’s Stealthy, by the way.”

“Belle.”

It was a little risky to use her real name, but this dwarf seemed particularly trustworthy. Besides, there had to be many other Belles in the world.

“And who are you really? I know you’re not a governess.”

“How did you --?”

“It takes a sneak to catch a sneak. So, who have you run away from? An unwanted suitor?”

Belle took a tiny sip of ale. Gaston was part of her story, and not even the most important part, but there was no denying it. The dwarf had landed pretty close to the truth.

“It’s actually worse than that. An arranged marriage.”

She took a bigger sip.

“Humans!” he scoffed. “Mixing up love and duty so that nobody is ever happy. We dwarves get hatched from eggs, and we never fall in love. Too complicated! My brother Dreamy over there may be a bit of a weak link, but he’s the exception. Anyway, I have hope for him. He’ll learn.”

“Love _is_ complicated,” agreed Belle. “Especially when you lose love. My mother passed away recently, and . . .and. . . ”

Suddenly, her grief caught up with her. She’d been suppressing it ever since she left home. A few tears dripped into her stein. “I’ve had way too much ale,” she realized, dabbing at her eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Stealthy. Then he bent closer to her. “Are you a royal?”

Belle stared at him open-mouthed. “How --?”

“The arranged marriage for one thing. Is it an alliance your father is hoping to clinch?”

Belle nodded. Stealthy shook his head disapprovingly. “And that’s why, despite the fancy clothes and full purse, you look like you’re bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders. I’ve seen that look before.” He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “My brothers and I are hiding Snow White.”

Belle sat back, impressed. She’d been so preoccupied with the problems in her own kingdom, she’d hadn’t given much thought to the conflicts playing out in the lands she was passing through. According to every reliable account, Snow White was cut of the same cloth as her father King Leopold. Even in exile, she was fighting for justice, protecting her people from the tyrannical queen. By hiding her, Stealthy and his brothers were true heroes!

“We can take you in, too, if you like,” he suggested. “Snow would probably enjoy more female company. I mean, there’s Red, but she lives with her grandmother.”

“That’s very kind of you," said Belle. “It would be my greatest honor to meet her. But I can’t now. I must get back home. My father needs me.” She paused. Dare she say it? Yes, she would, no matter how inadequate she felt. “The kingdom needs me.”

Stealthy nodded. “Duty comes first.”

“I intend to fulfill my duty,” she said, the ale emboldening her to speak less guardedly. “I just want to find some way other than my father’s. That’s why I overpaid the pirate. I think the book he sold me has valuable information.”

Belle wondered what Stealthy would say to that. Some people, even Father at times, laughed at her for putting her faith in books and history. They said she had her head in the clouds. She was beloved in her kingdom, but mainly because she was pretty. That was what people seemed to want in a princess, but it wasn’t what she valued in herself. She was much prouder of her scholarship, and she longed to be recognized for it. But more than that, she aspired to be a leader. Like Snow White. Like Mother.

Right now, she didn’t feel like much of one. All she’d done so far was run away and make mistakes. A tragic one for Anna, and a whole bunch of little ones, as Stealthy had just pointed out. There were probably others she didn’t even know about.

“Maybe my head _is_ in the clouds,” she thought, “but that’s all the more reason I have to rely on books. I can’t trust in my own judgment by itself.”

Stealthy cocked his head in the direction of a bespectacled dwarf sitting at the end of the table. He had a pickaxe like all the others, but a telltale backpack full of books. “My brother Doc doesn’t go anywhere without something to read. Between his book smarts and my street smarts, we’ve gotten through some pretty tough scrapes. I hope your book helps you with yours.”

“Thank you, Stealthy. That means a lot.”

“It is a dwarf’s honor to serve,” he said, standing up and bowing.

Belle stood up, too, and returned his bow with a curtsy. A tremendous disregard of rank and protocol, but she was still incognito. Stealthy knew her secret, but nobody else in the tavern had to.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get to bed. Early ride tomorrow.”

She made her way through the crowded tables, but nobody else seemed to take notice of her. She went upstairs, which was as vacant as the tavern was full, and settled into her room. Just as Stealthy instructed, she scattered the fairy dust around the door and windows. Her crystal grew even warmer once the dust was released. Perhaps the uncut crystal and the powdered dust were mined from the same source. It would have been interesting to get Stealthy’s expert opinion, but she wasn’t going back downstairs now. Besides, even _she_ knew better than to show off her crystal in public. It wasn’t just that it was fairy-blessed and costly. It was a gift from Mother. That made it priceless.

The crystal remained warm even as she nestled into bed with her new book. With all that fairy magic around her, she knew she was safe. That greedy pirate wouldn’t dare cross her threshold!

Still, part of her felt lucky to have met him. Perhaps the old book wasn’t the collector’s item he claimed it to be, but it was just what she was searching for. She _had to_ return home with some solution in hand. Otherwise, her whole trip would have been for nothing. And after all the trouble she’d caused, how could she ever forgive herself?

She knew Rumpelstiltskin was the last refuge of the desperate. Everyone said so. But she _was_ desperate, and besides, “everyone” was very often wrong. So she flipped through the pages to the final chapter of the book. Her mind was completely open. Rumpelstiltskin might well be the most fearsome sorcerer in the Land, but if his magic was what ended the First Ogres War, then she might have no choice but to enlist his help to save Avonlea. 


	2. Morraine's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the benefit of anyone who hasn't seen the original TV show, or anyone who wants a refresher, I've embedded video clips within the text. I hope it helps, and I hope it's not too distracting. Please let me know. Thank you.

My name is Madam Morraine. I am a simple peasant woman, not a scholar or a historian. But I set ink to paper now because my story belongs in the annals of history. Not only am I a veteran of the First Ogres War, I am the only human witness to its final battle. Except, contrary to common belief, the war did not end with a battle at all. It was more of a peace negotiation, executed by one man: Rumpelstiltskin the Spinner, known today as the Dark One. If you, the young person reading this, are fortunate enough never to have seen a real ogre, it is all thanks to him.

I was only fourteen [when I was drafted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-MH8ze-vJ0). The war had been going on for so many generations, there were hardly any soldiers left to fight, so the draft age kept getting lower. Many of my friends found a way out by following the call of the Piper of Hamelin. Nobody ever saw them again, but at least they didn’t get torn limb from limb by an ogre.

Rumpelstiltskin the Spinner opposed the war. “It’s not courage. It’s not honor. It’s sacrifice!” he would say.

The people of our village said he was just excusing his own cowardice. He was lame back then, and everyone said it wasn't from a war injury. They said he crippled himself deliberately to escape the fighting. Perhaps that is true. I was just a baby when it happened, so I really don’t know. But I do know this: many villagers secretly agreed with him. They were just too afraid to say it when our leaders could hear. I understood that even then, young as I was.

With no end to the war in sight, Rumpelstiltskin took action. Once again, I will not describe [what I did not see](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzG_8_odRu8%20target=), but everyone knows the legend of the Dark One. Somehow, Rumpelstiltskin stole the Dark One’s dagger, and that made him the new Dark One. But I did see what happened next, and I refuse to let the world forget it. Rumpelstiltskin performed a miracle.

Becoming the Dark One changed him right away. For one thing, he wasn’t lame anymore. He was stronger than our whole army put together, and he could ride horseback like a champion knight. He came charging onto the battlefield, holding his dagger up high. It seemed to collect the sunlight as he rode. A golden beam shone right through it. Rumpelstiltskin was glowing, too. And all the way, he was yelling, “Children, return to your parents! Parents, return to your children! Enough death! The war is over! The war is over!”

He rode all the way up to front line. The moment the ogres saw him, they dropped their weapons and stood as still as stone.

“Go home, everyone!” he shouted again. “The war is over!”

It was complete chaos after that. Soldiers went scattering in every direction. We’d been conscripted from all over the realm. Many people were far from their villages and were only too happy to leave. But some of us stayed right where we were. We stood behind Rumpelstiltskin, eager to see what he would do next.

Cries for revenge echoed from all over the battlefield.

“Finish ‘em off!”

“Kill ‘em all!”

“Die, ogres, die!”

The last one caught on as a chant. Hundreds of battle-weary soldiers who’d lost way too much all began shouting in unison. “Die, ogres, die! Die, ogres, die!”

Rumpelstiltskin let the angry chant go on a little while, but not too long. “Enough!” he finally shouted, turning back to the crowd with fire in his eyes. “Go home, all of you!”

Nobody budged. So he held his dagger with the flat side toward us, inching it forward ever so slightly, and it was as though an invisible wall pushed us all away. Everyone disappeared at once. The only ones left were him, the ogres, and me. Somehow, instead of ending up at home like everyone else, I was pushed behind a nearby tree.

Rumpelstiltskin pointed his dagger at the biggest ogre. Perhaps he was already their leader, or perhaps Rumpelstiltskin chose him for the job, but he must have cast some kind of spell on him. The ogre’s whole face lit up, like he’d suddenly gained human intelligence. As scary as ogres are, they look and sound pretty stupid. They communicate in grunts and shouts. But now, this one could speak and understand our language. He walked right up to Rumpelstiltskin, and they began negotiating. 

“Let’s end this once and for all,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “What do you want in exchange for leaving us humans alone?”

The ogre knew exactly what he wanted. “Leave us alone.”

If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I wouldn’t have believed it. I saw how brutal those ogres could be. After all those years of fighting, was that only thing they were after? Just to be left alone?

“Ah, such a simple request, yet so difficult to achieve,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Humans have a perverse weakness for war. We convince ourselves there’s glory in it.”

The ogre nodded. “Ogres like fighting, too. It gets us in a frenzy. And once we start, it’s hard for us to stop.”

“Then we will need a magical barrier to separate us. We’ll protect ourselves and each other from our species’ worst tendencies.”

“Sounds good to me,” said the ogre.

It sounded good to me, too. I figured Rumpelstiltskin would make a magical barrier appear between us right then and there, but it was much more complicated than that. You might say he banished the ogres to another realm, but even that doesn’t quite describe it. As I said, I am a simple peasant woman, and I was little more than a child when I saw this. I hope I can do it justice.

Rumpelstiltskin lifted his dagger skyward, and it collected more sunlight. Then he lowered the dagger and pointed it toward the ground.

“Place your finger on top of my hand,” he told the ogre. The ogre’s finger was gigantic by comparison, but I guess it didn’t hurt the Dark One. As soon as they were touching, the sunbeam streaming from the dagger turned into a dark, swirling storm cloud. After a few seconds, the earth began to shake. I never felt anything like it. I had to grab onto the tree just to keep myself from falling down.

When the shaking stopped, there was a long, deep gash in the earth. Rumpelstiltskin stood on one side of it, and the ogres were on the other. Then, with a tiny prod of the dagger, the ogres’ side began moving backwards. It went slowly at first, but the gap between us grew wider and wider. I stood and watched until the ogres receded so far back, they were nothing but tiny dots. They were standing on the edge of their own jagged cliff, and so were we. Then the valley between us filled with fog. That was the last I ever saw of any ogre, thank G-d.

Now it was just Rumpelstiltskin and me. I knew it was all right to come out of hiding. I was so grateful, I could have thrown my arms around him, but he didn’t give me the chance. He just looked me straight in the eye, gave another little prod of his dagger, and sent me home. It was just like the way he put me behind the tree, only this time, I felt the change more strongly. I floated from one place to another in a single second. And before I could catch my breath, my parents were covering me in hugs and kisses. My best friend, who was just under the draft age, was there, too. Everyone else in our village was outside celebrating, but they wouldn’t join in until I arrived home, safe and sound.

Rumpelstiltskin ought to have been hailed as a hero after that, but people forget quickly. Also, the powers he’d taken on in becoming the Dark One kept changing him, so people grew wary. The golden aura that surrounded him on the battlefield settled on his skin in a sickly yellowish-green. And that was just a sign of how the power was changing him inside. He grew cunning and vengeful, especially to people who’d hurt him in the past. A lame man who everyone believed was a deserter was an easy target for bullies. He made sure every one of those bullies got their come-uppance. Revenge is not a noble trait, but it’s an understandable one.

I suppose that is why it was so easy for people to lose sight of the good he did. They began saying he ended the war for his own selfish reasons, but if that were true, he would have used his powers differently. He could have just protected himself and the few people he cared about, but he did more. He ended the war for all of us. 

After that, he made himself rich, which only made people dislike him more. But I contend that anyone would do exactly the same thing given the power. It’s just that everyone else would wish themselves a pile of gold and be done with it. Not the new Dark One. He liked having a laugh at fate. The poor old yarn spinner could now spin straw into gold.

He could have left the viIlage and started a new life somewhere else, but instead, he built a castle where his cottage used to be. One day, the land around it just seemed to expand, and soon, there was a castle sitting on the top of a mountain, overlooking us, his old neighbors.

We avoided him after that, but strangers did not, especially after he began bartering his magical cures. It was said he could fix every problem imaginable – illness, heartache, famine, family strife. People traveled from distant lands just to consult him. Even royalty came. Rumor had it that he had his hand in all sorts of palace intrigue. People said he’d agree to turn a commoner into a king just because he thought it was funny.

Being so close, we villagers heard many stories. Every story was different, and all of them were complicated, but they all had one thing in common. At some point before striking a final deal, he’d say, “All magic comes with a price.”

It’s impossible to know what happened with everyone. The visitors would go back to wherever they came from, and sometimes you’d hear the ending of a story, but most of the time, you didn’t. As for me, I heard enough about people landing in worse trouble after making a deal with him that I knew to stay away. But I never stopped believing in his heroic side, so I was sure he meant to warn people when he told them, “All magic comes with a price.” The trouble was, he would giggle so much when he said it, nobody took him seriously. That and they were all so desperate for whatever they had come for.

His repeat customers had it worst of all. You’d see them around the village sometimes, staying at the inn, which is where I worked for many years. That inn turns over a tidy profit on his visitors alone. Those folks must have realized they were exchanging one set of problems for bigger ones, but it was said that getting out of debt to Rumpelstiltskin was like untangling a life-sized knot. With yourself stuck in the middle.

That is why I dared to visit his castle only once. It was thirty years after the war, and my firstborn daughter was soon to be married, but she was not the reason I went. For years, it had been bothering me that so many people didn’t acknowledge how the war really ended, and I had seen more than anybody. Now that my own children were older, I thought I might have the time to write my story and set the record straight.

“Madam Morraine,” he said when I entered his grand room. He had not laid eyes on me since I was a teenager, but he never forgot a name. “Are you looking for a magical gift for your young couple? The Cauldron of Endless Nourishment, to help them through the lean times? Or perhaps a store of potions to ensure the health of your future grandchildren?”

He made these objects appear before me as he spoke of them. It was dizzying be surrounded by all that magic and opulence at the same time, but I resisted his offers. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, since he was also said to be a Seer, was he assuring me of grandchildren or warning me of lean times?

“We will meet life’s challenges as they come,” I replied. “I am here for permission, not magic.”

“Really? How refreshing!” he tittered. “Permission for what?”

“To write about the war. About how you saved us all.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” he said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “You do realize nobody will believe you. What an outlandish tale! The Dark One saves the realm.”

He laughed in that odd way he’s so famous for, and then, right in the middle of our conversation, he sat down at his spinning wheel and set to work. It was rather rude behavior, but being who he was, he could get away with anything.

“Even if nobody believes me, I feel a need to tell it. I know what I saw.”

He stopped the wheel abruptly. “Oh, do you now? Then let’s hear, dearie, just what did you see? What ever became of the ogres?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, sir.”

Bold on my part, but this was the one and only time I ever intended to ask him for anything. I couldn’t let myself be sidetracked. Not by his questions, not by his taunting, and not by the sheer intimidation of his bizarre presence.

“Aha!” he cried, making me jump. “So you _are_ here for magic! Everyone is, of course.”

“Not me.”

Then it occurred to me what he might be thinking. “I’m not looking for the trick to bringing back the ogres. I would _never_ do that. I fought in the war. I remember what it was like. I want them to stay where they are.”

He looked at me, unmoved.

“Please,” I said.

And for reasons I will never understand, that softened him. His tone changed completely. “The ogres are on the other side of the Edge of Realms. They are safe from us, and we are safe from them. Only a fool would disturb them, but then, the world is full of fools. Only if people remember how terrible the war was will there be any hope for us.”

He raised his hands, and I knew he was about to perform more magic. The floor I was standing on split off into its own little island, separate from the rest of the room, just like the separate cliff where the ogres must be.

I’d heard rumors that time worked strangely in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. For some, it sped up. For others, it slowed down. And nobody realized how off kilter they were until they got back outside. All I can say is that for me, standing in that circle, I felt myself a child, a teenage soldier, a newlywed bride, a young mother, and an old lady all at once.

When he dropped his hands, the floor sealed back up, and I felt like myself again: a middle-aged mother with a story burning within her.

He crooked a finger at me, as though to signal me to walk closer, but I did not need to walk. I glided over the floor without taking a step. He stopped me when I was standing right across from him. He handed me a bottle of ink.

“These are my terms. You must tell the truth as you saw it. You have permission to use my name. When you are ready for your final draft, you will use that ink. But you will leave my personal grief out of your story.”

I hesitated before agreeing. I considered every ramification I could think of. I’d heard enough about other people’s mistakes to know that I must take his words very seriously. I had not asked for magic, but I was sure that ink bottle was full of it. If I was not careful, I could end up paying a high price.

“I promise,” I said, holding out my hand, as is customary.

He shook it, and we had a deal.

But even that was many years ago. The account you are now reading has undergone plenty of revision. Setting something down in magical ink would give anyone pause. I am now a white-haired great-grandmother. And of course, life has kept me very busy. But truth be told, I waited until I had lived a long and happy life before releasing my story. I believe I’ve kept the terms of the deal, but if I have made any mistakes, I am no longer afraid of harsh consequences. I have always felt I owed my very life to Rumpelstiltskin. I hope I have repaid my debt to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who is not familiar with the TV show: When Morraine refers to "her best friend" just under the draft age, that is Rumpelstiltskin's own son, Baelfire or Bae for short. Rumpelstiltskin's biggest motivation for ending the war was that his son was about to be drafted. But the price he pays for taking on the Dark Power is that it alienates him from his son, who escapes to a non-magical realm (our world). Rumpelstiltskin spends the centuries of his immortal life (and the first two seasons of the show) trying to reach Bae. When he tells Morraine to leave "his personal grief" out of her story, that is what he means.


	3. Answering the Call

Belle closed the book, her mind awhirl. Morraine was so wise and brave! No single author could provide the total picture of any event - indeed, no human could - but Morraine showed all the signs of being a trustworthy source. She stayed away from conjecture. Whenever she relied on hearsay, she pointed it out. But most of all, what she said about the ogres rang true to Belle’s own experience. If humans would leave them alone, they would leave humans alone.

Of course, the core of the story was Rumpelstiltskin. According to Morraine, he was a hidden hero, a real-life Gideon. Her instinct had been right! He could not be as dark as everyone believed. You could never know what was in someone’s heart until you stood in his shoes, and Morraine, who had grown up near Rumpelstiltskin, seemed to have gotten closer than anybody.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said aloud. He could end this frightful war before it got any worse! Then Father would be safe, the villagers would be protected, and perhaps she could break her engagement to Gaston after all.

She was ashamed of herself for even thinking it. How could she be so selfish? People’s lives were in danger, and she had already caused so much pain. Her mother had lost her life to save her. Anna had been captured by a witch, and it was all her fault. If other women could sacrifice so much at such an expense to themselves, then surely she should be able to give up that silly dream of “happily ever after” for the sake of Avonlea.

Now full of guilt and worry, Belle doubted she would ever get to sleep. She had to force herself somehow. But as she tossed and turned with so many thoughts flitting through her mind, it never once dawned on her that the aid she was seeking was already underway. Rumpelstiltskin, sitting in his distant castle, heard her call the instant she spoke his name.

* * *

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

She pronounced it correctly on the very first try. And her tone was so sweet and guileless. It stirred him in some long-buried part of himself. Clearly, this was no ordinary summons. But for all the pressure the young woman seemed to be under, her call was building slowly, deliberately. She was not rushing into anything.

“What a breath of fresh air!” he murmured, causing a warm breeze to blow through the Great Hall. He threaded his wheel with new straw and began spinning. “And what is your Name?” he asked. The answer came to him quickly. Belle.

There had to be many Belles in the world, but he suspected he knew exactly which Belle this might be. It made perfect sense: the now-grown daughter of King Maurice and Queen Colette. His deal with them, made so long ago, was bearing fruit from an unexpected branch. He giggled.

He’d struck the original deal with Maurice, but it was always Colette he meant to elevate. She was shrewd and fair-minded, a worthy leader. And enticing the greedy tinkerer with the promise of wealth and power was child’s play. Who would turn that down? Fortunately, Colette had proven as clever as he anticipated. He never once had to go back to Avonlea to collect. So what was wrong that their daughter was calling him now?

He knew a little about her. She was reputed to have a face that matched her name, but that meant almost nothing. All princesses were praised for their beauty. It was also said she preferred books to ballrooms. More interesting, certainly, though not terribly surprising, given that Colette was her mother.

“What do you want?” he asked.

He slowed the wheel to a steady pace to match the speed of her request. In a short while, the basket began filling up. Not with gold, though. With white lace.

He snipped some off to look at it more closely. He pulled it taut. A deceptively strong weave for so a delicate a design. Flowers and bells.

“Wedding bells,” he thought. “Of course.”

Maurice must either be keeping Belle apart from her true love or pressuring her into a strategic marriage of convenience. Perhaps both. Belle, quite likely, was seeking his help behind her father’s back. But the dutiful daughter must have mixed feelings about defying her father. Hence all the careful deliberation.

A sudden noise from the corner of the room made Rumpelstiltskin look up. Brunhilde, though still in broomstick form, had broken through enough of his curse to get herself moving. She swept back and forth, tossing up a cloud of dust.

“Be still, you old battleaxe! I’m trying to concentrate!”

He held up his hand and made her stop mid-sweep. With a slight push, he had her leaning against the wall once more.

“Now, where was I?” He gave a tug on the line and set the wheel in motion again. He emptied his mind this time, cooling his own feelings, allowing the next connection to come without shaping it. And it soon did. Another name. Morraine.

Morraine! How extraordinary! So the scholarly princess had come across Morraine’s tale, had she? No wonder her call stirred him so! He had long given up on _that_ enchantment ever working. It must be over a century! He’d lost count, it was so long ago.

Now he knew there was much more to this call than just an affair of the heart. It was starting to look like an affair of state. With ogres somehow involved.

“Oh, Maurice, you damned fool, what have you done to your kingdom?”

Well, there was no sense in sitting around here wondering. He transported himself to Avonlea to see the damage for himself.

He landed on an uninhabited hilltop that gave him a good view of the entire province. Though he had not been there in a long time, the place had barely changed. He had never allowed Maurice to expand far. A wise decision, seeing how the ogres had limited their attack strictly to Avonlea. Tragic for its residents, but at least nobody beyond its borders had suffered. Yet.

The ogres were camped out at one end of the forest, and the opposing human army was on the other. But the human army was too numerous to be Avonlea’s alone. Maurice must have forged an alliance with someone. Rumpelstiltskin went invisible, snapped himself to the encampment, and quickly ascertained with whom. Lord Le Gume, another upstart.

“Colette could never have approved of this,” he thought. The ogres would crush them all.

Rumpelstiltskin looked up at the palace on the tallest hilltop. Guards were posted all around it. He would get there soon. He must check on the villagers first. They were in the deepest part of the valley, the most vulnerable position. He snapped himself down there.

He kept himself invisible, but there was no need. None of the townsfolk would dare go outside. They were hiding in their homes, trying their best to protect themselves and their families from the ogres. How well Rumpelstiltskin remembered that terror - sitting in his cottage, trying to calm poor little Bae, who’d tremble with fear at the most ordinary of noises, even passing horses.

But scared as the townsfolk were, they remained untouched. Gratified, Rumpelstiltskin snapped himself over to the battlefield, which was in a clearing between the two encampments. It was quiet now, but the stench of death still lingered. Some ogre deaths, more human. He’d been near many grim scenes in his lifetime, both before and after becoming the Dark One, but nothing made him quite as angry as the wanton destruction of a war.

He transported himself up to a treetop near the ogre encampment. He had always known that his first negotiation with Chief Shrek would not be his last. Humanity was lucky the peace had lasted as long as it did. He caught some moonlight in his dagger and sent Shrek the signal. Shrek caught it and walked over.

“Some humans broke our deal!” he accused.

“And I assure you, those humans will pay the price.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. “Shrek, please. I have come to you even before the humans have formally enlisted my help. Until I have my deal settled with them, can we agree to a cease-fire?”

Shrek folded his gigantic arms. He was not going to give in easily. “We want more this time,” he said. “Your barrier needs fortification. Especially on your side.”

“You’re right,” Rumpelstiltskin conceded, “but if I am to fix it, I need information. Tell me everything you know.”

Irritated as Shrek was, he was keen to tell his side of the story. He wanted a quick resolution as badly as Rumpelstiltskin did, not another protracted war with humanity. “It all started when the humans caught a young ogre named Ibber. He is what you humans would call a teenager.”

“And since you say, ‘is,’ I assume that means he is still alive?”

“Yes. He escaped and found his way home. That’s how we know this story.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “First things first. Do you have any idea how he crossed the barrier?”

“Oh, yes,” said Shrek, his eyes flashing with hatred. “A Valkyrie lured him out.”

Rumpelstiltskin could have smacked himself on the forehead. Brunhilde! Of course! Only another immortal would have the power to breach his barrier. And only a warrior goddess would regard it as the correct thing to do.

That explained her frantic sweeping back in the castle. She hadn’t begun breaking herself out of jail at all. Her destiny was coming for her. She created this mess, and now it would fall to her to repair it.

“Those luscious fighter women are a terrible temptation to a young ogre,” said Shrek. “We don’t blame Ibber for falling for her. He followed her right into your realm, and then two humans captured him. King Maurice and General Gaston. They wanted to show off Gaston’s fighting prowess, and what better way than to have some sport with an ogre?”

“Ah. The brave heroes! What did they do to Ibber?”

“Hid him in a pit. Tortured him to get him in a rage. Then, just when he was working himself up to kill, the princess came along and showed him a magic mirror. He didn’t know what it was, but from the sound of it, I assumed it was something of yours.”

“One of my creations, yes,” said Rumpelstiltskin, recognizing just how imperative it was that he get to know the exceptional Princess Belle. Not only had she read Morraine’s words, the Mirror of Souls found its way to her. He’d designed that with meticulous specificity. Only a woman clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart could use it.

“Whatever she saw in that mirror convinced her to free Ibber, and once he reached home and told us the story, we saw that the gate was opened for the rest of us. And you know the terms. Bother one of us, and you’ve bothered all of us.”

“But not all humans bothered you. Princess Belle didn’t.”

“True, she didn’t, but her father and Gaston did. Besides, we haven’t attacked _all_ humans. We’ve isolated ourselves to this one battlefield. I even gave a command to spare the princess. I admit, we had a little trouble with Pellamella, one of our worst hotheads. When we broke into the palace, he went after her anyway. Being in the heat of battle will do that to an ogre. The queen gave her life to save her daughter’s.”

“Queen Colette is dead?!” cried Rumpelstiltskin. He threw a few sparks of a fireball in disgust and anger. Maurice’s downfall was inevitable now. Belle was Avonlea’s only hope. 

“We must go to Maurice’s palace,” he told Shrek. “I will begin to extract the retributions from him and Gaston. Meanwhile, you and your soldiers may surround the hill. Make as much noise as you like. Frighten everyone inside. But do not attack again. Not the palace, and above all, not the villagers. There will be a protection spell around all of you that will last as long as you don’t hurt anybody. I will send up the signal for when to start and when to stop. Deal?”

“As long as justice gets done,” said Shrek, “we have a deal.” The two shook hands.

Rumpelstiltskin faded to invisible and snapped himself into the palace. He found Maurice in his throne room, pacing up and down, upbraiding the strapping young man he now knew to be General Gaston.

“We need more searching parties!” Maurice demanded.

“Sir, we cannot spare a single soldier. What if the ogres invade the palace again?”

“Belle is missing! Do you understand that? She could be dead! I’ve lost my wife! I’m losing my kingdom! At the very least, find me my little girl!”

“We will, sir.”

“She’s not even here,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, realizing he’d assumed too much. Perhaps she fled when Pellamella attacked. Perhaps that was Colette’s last act: setting her daughter free. But now that she had said his name, Rumpelstiltskin could get a rough sense of her location. She was far from home, but not in any danger.

This changed things. He’d told Shrek to hold his fire for Belle’s sake alone. Perhaps he should reverse course and let the ogres loose. Maurice and Gaston deserved it.

The only thing stopping him was Belle’s call. Even if it wasn’t a full summons yet, it was clear that more than anything, she wanted her father safe. And so, he stuck to his original plan. He would terrorize them now and rearrange the power structure afterward.

“You should have listened to your queen, Maurice,” he whispered. “You cannot maintain the kingdom without her.”

Maurice showed no sign of recognition. He just continued berating Gaston. “‘Just one ogre,’ you told me. ‘I can handle it.’ Well, now look what you’ve done! Somehow, we’ve got to handle them all!”

“Oh, no,” said Rumpelstiltskin softly. “You gentlemen have had it easy. You don’t have to handle them _all_.”

Gaston perked up and put his hand on his sword. “Sire, did you hear something?”

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. The two men jumped. “Ready, dearies?” he said. He gave a soft blow, and the candelabra blew out. Then, with a circular wave of his hand, he relit it.

“How the hell--?” said Gaston.

“My gods,” said Maurice, “someone else is in here.”

“Impossible!” said the young general.

Rumpelstiltskin cackled. Then he altered his voice so that it would sound like the whistling wind. “King Maurice is right! You are not alone, nor will you ever be! The deaths you have caused will haunt you both till the end of your days.”

Maurice looked terrified, Gaston merely confused. But Rumpelstiltskin was just getting started. He began collecting his anger, concentrating exclusively on these two men. Vain, stupid, glory-seeking men. His contempt for them filled him. The grounds around the palace began to shake.

“Here we go!” he sing-songed.

“They’ve surrounded us again!” cried Maurice.

“To your battle stations!” shouted Gaston, running out of the throne room, repeating the command to every guard and soldier he passed. 

“I would love to stay and watch the fun,” said Rumpelstiltskin, as the soldiers rushed around the palace. “But alas, I have other pressing business to attend to!”

He flashed the signal out of the window. Shrek could take over from here. Then he whisked himself back to his own castle. It was time to confront Brunhilde.


	4. Brunhilde

Brunhilde first awakened when she heard the princess use the Dark One’s real name. She’d been dead to the world before then. She’d lost all her powers when he captured and cursed her, and not just the divine ones. She couldn’t even do the things that mere humans took for granted, like seeing, hearing, speaking, and moving. After that came the excruciating pain of the Curse of the Wood Flesh. Oh, the stiffening of her skin and muscles! The sharp, piercing splinters! Then, to add insult to injury, he shaped her into a broomstick. A warrior goddess reduced to a common domestic tool! She was almost lucky that her mind went numb in the end. At least she didn’t have to live in constant witness of her own disgrace. 

And then, out of nowhere, she was awake again. She was still a broomstick, but she could see and hear what was happening around her. Everything was upside-down because her head was where her feet should be, but she recognized that she was still in the Dark One’s castle. He was spinning on his wheel, no doubt crafting one of his convoluted schemes.

Suddenly, she began moving. Sweeping the floor, to be precise. It was awkward and unpleasant, but that was hardly her biggest concern. What she wanted to know was what it _meant_. Were her powers returning?

As much as she wished it, it didn’t seem likely. She hadn’t willed herself to just start sweeping. And the Dark One had no reason to reanimate her. He stopped her the second he noticed her. This was something beyond both of them.

Her sweeping started up again the moment he left the castle. Was someone in the pantheon trying to break her free? If so, she was grateful, but whoever was working on the problem did not know what they were doing. The Dark One was powerful, and his spells were intricately constructed. Undoing them took a great deal of trial and error. Right now, someone was solidly in the error phase. Brunhilde was being jerked around every which way, and she had no ability to make herself stop.

“My gods, fix this quickly,” she thought in a silent and desperate prayer to the pantheon. “This is torture!”

Her prayer did not help. She kept swirling all over the room, picking up more speed the longer the Dark One stayed away. The discomfort would have been worth it had it ended with her escape, but the attempt failed. When he finally returned to his castle, she was still there, sweeping away. Whoever was trying to help had abandoned her.

“I’m home, dearie!” he called, announcing himself with that infuriating, high-pitched giggle. “Did you miss me?”

He watched her hurtle around the room a few moments, just because it amused him. Then he lifted up his hand and brought her to an abrupt stop. He pulled her across the room, rotated her brush-side-up, and there they stood, face to straw face.

His grin faded into a glower. “I’ve just come from Avonlea,” he told her, “where I’ve had an interesting conversation with the Ogre Chief. Funnily enough, _you_ came up. Something about seducing a young ogre and rekindling a war.”

The fireplace lit up as soon as he said the word “rekindling.” The flames leapt toward her. With her body now wooden, she knew she could be burnt to ashes in an instant. She tried to jump back, but she could not. Her movements were now under his control.

He laughed, and the flames receded. He did not let the fire reach her. She was not even singed.

“No punishment without a trial,” he said. “You get a chance to tell your side of things. But before you begin, let me remind you that deception is what landed you here in the first place. You know what will happen if you lie to me again.”

Brunhilde knew. She’d never forget the pain of being turned into wood. It was the worst agony she’d ever felt in her entire immortal life.

He waved his hand over her bristles, and her golden hair returned. Then he restored her face and ears to normal. He even gave her whatever inner organs she needed in order to breathe and speak. But he didn’t give her arms or legs. Everything below her neck was still a broomstick.

Brunhilde shook out her dusty braids and looked down at her cursed body. Oh, the humiliation! Her blue-grey eyes fixed the Dark One with an icy stare.

“There’s only one way out, dearie, and you’re just getting started. First, you tell me your tale. Then, I decide what to do with you. I suggest you don’t squander the opportunity.”

She would not. She felt like spitting in his eye, but she controlled herself. If telling the truth would free her from this wooden trap, she would tell it to him in full.

“King Maurice is one of my most loyal worshippers,” she began. “He would have made a glorious warrior, but between your spells and his wife, that could not happen. She was always opposed to his worship of me. She believed in the G-d of mercy and justice, and she taught her daughter to do the same.”

The Dark One’s expression changed inscrutably. “Belle.”

“Yes. The king was in despair because he was unable to conquer more territory. He was praying for me to destroy you. He thought that would terminate your deal.”

“What a plan!” he snickered. “Get a Valkyrie to override the Dark One!”

If Brunhilde could have flipped herself over and stabbed him with her pointy tip, she would have. Yet she must continue telling the truth. One lie and the little bit of flesh he’d restored would stiffen back into wood again.

“Maurice paid me so much tribute, I could not leave him empty-handed. So I implanted an idea in his mind. He must forge an alliance with Lord Le Gume. Le Gume also worships me, and his army, under the command of his son Gaston, is formidable.”

“And in return, I assume, Maurice was to offer Gaston the princess’ hand in marriage.”

“That _is_ the customary way amongst humans. And Gaston’s desire for her burned strong. She is lovely to look at. But she has strange ideas, just like her mother. They do not recognize the glory of war. They do not value heroes as Valkyries do.”

“Indeed,” he said.

A bit of white lace floated over, and the Dark One examined it. Brunhilde did not know what magic was in it, but he’d been spinning that lace ever since her sweeping started.

He made the lace disappear and looked back up at her. “Go on.”

“Gaston is not devout like his father or Maurice, but he tried praying for my assistance, too. At first, I saw no way to help. My specialty is the battlefield, not love. But since Maurice was also praying for a union, I gave both of them an idea _and_ the means to implement it. I released one ogre into their captivity."

"You reckless fool," interrupted the Dark One.

"He was a _young_ one," said Brunhilde. "I thought they could manage him. If Gaston killed him, I reasoned, he would win over the princess. An ogre is a monster. She would be impressed by his conquest. How was I to know her sense of mercy would extend to a ferocious beast?”

“Her mercy saved the entire realm! Whereas _you_ placed us all in danger."

“I did not act wrongly. I did what is expected of me. My worshippers paid their tribute, and I rewarded them with a chance for victory. It’s simple.”

“Ach! So primitive!”

He began to pace up and down. Brunhilde knew he was deciding her fate at that very moment. She kept silent and watched him anxiously. Then he stopped and stalked toward her menacingly.

“You have not told me the whole truth!”

“I have!” she cried, cowering.

“You have not! And now I begin to see what you were up to. It’s all becoming clear.”

He sat down at his wheel and began to spin.

“When I first captured you, you were hovering around those incompetents, the Chamberlen Brothers. I could not fathom how _that_ mismatch of a team came together. _You_ have no power over potion-brewing, and _they_ are a pair of quacks! But now I see. It was all for Maurice! Am I right?”

She nodded. It was not as though she could avoid the truth.

“Potion brewing is precision work, and anything that alters memories is especially tricky. It’s all about balancing the memories you want to retain. Take too much away, and you can change a person drastically. It is far beyond the ability of those two swindlers, and they knew it. That’s why they came to me.”

He got up from the wheel and began pacing again.

“Some wealthy customer promised them a small fortune for a memory erasure. They did not want to turn him down. So they handed over the essential ingredient: a strand of hair. They told me it belonged to a girl who’d recently lost her mother. Naturally, I asked some questions about the specifics. The death had been particularly violent, and the girl had witnessed it. But the customer didn’t just want to erase the traumatic scene. He wanted to make the girl forget her mother altogether, to dupe her into a false memory that her mother died when she was still a baby. That way, they’d negate the entire relationship.”

He walked up close to Brunhilde. She trembled from the intensity of his glare.

“That strand of hair didn’t belong to a little girl. It belonged a young woman. Princess Belle. And now I am doubly glad I took their deal and brewed the potion my own way. I removed the trauma and left everything else intact. I would never involve myself in so underhanded a deception, no matter who it was! Who would dare to tamper with the bond of love between parent and child?”

His accusation began as a hiss and rose to a roar, but scared as Brunhilde was, she was also expecting him to finish with a laugh. This _must_ be one of his jokes. Why would the Dark One care about a triviality like human love?

“What price did the brothers pay?” she blurted out. It was bold of her to ask, but she had nothing left to lose. “Did you turn them into objects, too?”

“I’m under no obligation to answer that,” he said, “but I will anyway. Perhaps you will learn something. Aside from making them turn _you_ in, our deal was that I would brew the potion for them, they would deliver it to their customer, and once they collected their fee, they’d retire from potion-brewing forever after. As a safety measure, I threw in a curse that if they ever tried brewing a potion again, they would feel its effects before they could pass it off on anyone.”

Brunhilde scowled, but she held her tongue.

“I know what you’re thinking, dearie. ‘Unfair! They get to retire in comfort, and I have to spend eternity in the Dark One’s castle. And as a broomstick under the Curse of the Wood Flesh! Who does he think I am? The puppet Pinocchio? I am the mighty Queen of the Valkyries!'"

Indeed, he summed up her thoughts perfectly.

“That’s the trouble with you primitives. Tribute buys benevolent action. Simple, as you say. But your concept of punishment is equally primitive, as though punishment were all about exacting revenge. Oh no, the punishment must be tailored to fit the crime. Consider the Chamberlen Brothers. Their dark side is greed. I let them satisfy a little of that itch, and they fell right into my clutches. Then came the important part: the deterrent. Self-inflicted wounds always work best. Repeat the crime, and you hoist yourself with your own petard. It brings the lesson right home. And there you have it: an impeccably crafted deal.”

She watched him bask in his own praise for a moment before he began delivering her sentence.

“But you, Brunhilde, Queen of the Valkyries, are a special case. A minor deity with great power, you have tremendous potential to damage this world, and so, you will remain my captive. That will in turn limit the Valkyries you command, and perhaps there will be a little less war in the world.”

Brunhilde stared at him, baffled. Everyone knew the cowardly Dark One preferred making deals to fighting, but wasn’t it his nature to celebrate death?

“There is also the individual matter of justice to Queen Colette and Princess Belle,” he went on. “You answered Maurice’s prayers in a corrupt and self-serving way. I know why you did it, but I want to hear you to say it. Go ahead. Make your confession.”

Brunhilde held her head high. If this was her last chance at self-defense, she would declare it proudly. “I came up with the idea of a new ogre war because war is glorious,” she said. “I used the opportunity to have Queen Colette killed because I wanted her out of the way. Then I could continue to harness Maurice’s militant side and make more war. I tried to have the daughter killed, too, but Maurice would have been too weak to go on if he lost both of them. So I hoped that erasing her memories would be enough. Values like hers are undermining the Valkyries.”

“Just you wait till _I'm_ through with you!" he shouted, cackling and throwing his arms hands into the air. The castle began shaking so hard that hundreds of his possessions crashed to the floor and broke. Brunhilde guessed that many of them contained cursed souls just like hers – demigods, witches and wizards, even humans – all encased in inanimate objects.

Maurice’s palace was quaking, too. She could hear him crying out for her. “My gods, help me!” But as the Dark One’s prisoner, she could do nothing for him.

With one circular gesture, the Dark One waved all his things back into place, fully repaired. Then, in total calm, he said, “Treaty for War Reparations,” and a parchment, quill pen, and table appeared. The pen stood upright, ready to take dictation.

“Well,” he said, “it appears that Maurice’s devotion to you and your pantheon will bind you to each other forever, just not in the way you planned.”

The quill began to write as he spoke:

_Brunhilde, Queen of the Valkyries, shall make the following reparations to the Kingdom of Avonlea: First, she shall command her legion to encircle the battlefield and offer everyone who died there the opportunity to enter Valhalla, whether human or ogre, soldier or peasant, adult or child.”_

He paused the quill. “As you know, I have no power over the afterlife. But I do have power over you, and you have the keys to Valhalla. I suspect that most of the dead will prefer some other form of eternal reward, but you will give them the option.”

He set the quill to writing again.

_Second, Brunhilde, Queen of the Valkyries, shall command her legion to serve as a defensive shield for the Kingdom of Avonlea, its residents and subjects, now and forever._

“I expect it to return to being a quiet little town.”

 _Third,_ _Brunhilde, Queen of the Valkyries, shall command her legion to stay away from the barrier separating the ogres from the human realms, now and forever. She shall assist Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, in the fortification of said barrier by providing him with complete information on the Valkyries’ weaknesses. This shall last until such time as the Dark One, in his magical expertise, determines that the barrier is impervious to Valkyries._

“An ongoing project for your stay here, dearie.”

He opened the palm of his left hand, and the parchment and quill jumped into it. Then, with his right hand, he restored her arms. He gave her the quill and treaty, and she knew what to do. After they each signed it, he made the two copies vanish, and then he restored not just the rest of her body, but her powers, too.

“Now, do whatever it takes to communicate with your legion.”

Brunhilde stood still, closed her eyes, and summoned them. “My gods and sisters, I am in the Dark One’s captivity. Do not try to break me out. You will fail. If you want me to go free, please follow these instructions.”

She gave over all the Dark One’s commands. Once finished, she looked up and braced herself for the oncoming pain.

“You need not worry,” he said. “The transformation will not hurt as long as you act in good faith, which you did just now. Besides, I wasn’t ready to turn you back yet. There’s still more.”

“More?” thought Brunhilde. “How can there possibly be more?”

“Contract of Indentured Servitude,” he said as a fresh parchment appeared on the table. The new dictation began:

 _Brunhilde, Queen of_ _the Valkyries,_ _shall make amends to Princess Belle of Avonlea by serving as her personal servant and guard._

He paused. “Listen to this next part carefully, dearie. You need to understand this.”

_Brunhilde’s powers, whether divine or mundane, will be restored whenever they are necessary to fulfill Belle’s needs or wishes. If Brunhilde is in any way unfaithful in her performance, or simply uses her powers for her own ends, she shall suffer the full pain of the Curse of Wood Flesh and never revive again. But if she acts faithfully to Princess Belle and her values, she will feel no pain when returning to the broomstick state and will be restored whenever Belle needs or wants her._

“The punishment tailored to fit my crimes,” she thought sullenly. She should have known she’d be enslaved to Belle the moment she woke up to her voice. But the ultimate insult came when the Dark One dictated the length of her servitude.

_Brunhilde’s service shall end when Princess Belle, in her ethical judgment, determines that Brunhilde has sufficiently absorbed the values taught by the late Queen Colette of Avonlea._

“How in Odin’s name will I ever do that?” moaned Brunhilde, signing the contract.

“To be honest, I don’t see it myself,” said the Dark One, adding his own signature and snapping the contract away. “I reckon you will be at it forever, but perhaps it may be easier than we think. If negotiations go as I hope, you will be very near to your mistress. I will be offering Belle a home here in my castle. I will not stand by and let a visionary of her caliber remain subject to the whims of those myopic brutes, _King_ Maurice and _General_ Gaston.”

Brunhilde’s mind reeled as she listened to him tie the loose strands of everyone’s fate together. He covered every detail, even commandeering her legion! His convoluted schemes really did have a pattern to them. If she hadn’t been the one caught in the middle, she would have been quite impressed.

“Now, as to your first task. . .”

Brunhilde dreaded what he would say next, but he waved forth something that actually made her smile. Her horned helmet! She had despaired of ever seeing it again. Now she’d be able to fly!

“In the morning, Belle will begin the last leg of her journey back to Avonlea. Your first task is to guarantee her safe passage. Do not put any ideas into anyone’s mind. All you need to do is stand guard and make sure no harm comes to Belle. Your task will be complete when I arrive to take over for you. You will then return here. Any questions?”

She shook her head.

“Remember the Curse of Wood Flesh.”

“I can’t possibly forget it.”

“Then good luck on the completion of your first task.”


	5. For the Good of Avonlea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter in which I lifted large chunks of dialogue from the original TV show. If you've never seen the show, or just want a reminder, I've embedded a link to where the scene starts in the text. Let me know if it's unclear or too distracting. Thanks.

From the time she was a little girl, Belle dreamed of growing up to be exactly like her mother. It wasn’t just that Mother was kind and beautiful. She was a scholar with quiet power. She shaped the kingdom’s policy on all matters, and because she was so delicate a diplomat, she knew how to let Father have the glory. Only the closest insiders knew that the Queen was the real brain behind the crown.

Mother began training Belle to follow in her footsteps before Belle even realized it. When she was a child, Mother introduced her to _Her Handsome Hero._ How Belle loved Gideon and his noble adventures! She read and reread those stories so often, she learned them all by heart. Then as she grew older, she understood that the adventures weren’t the important part. It was the way Gideon rose to his challenges, not just with personal courage, but with mercy toward others. It was truly a book about moral leadership.

Once Belle had reached the maturity to recognize that, Mother began encouraging her to study history.

“Read the views of many different kinds of people,” she advised. “That will broaden your perspective. And if you can learn other languages, so much the better.”

Belle read voraciously and quickly surpassed all her governesses. Some of them laughed at the notion of preparing the princess of so small a kingdom for statesmanship. “All she needs is the proper etiquette for balls and banquets,” they insisted. But Belle applied herself and attempted to master such diverse languages as Chinese and Elvish. She made her best progress with fairy language. That was how she earned her crystal necklace. 

“Blessed by the Blue Fairy herself,” said Mother on the day she presented it. “I’m so proud of you, darling.” 

But sitting in the carriage as it raced through the countryside, Belle couldn’t see what Mother was so proud of. Her selfish streak had reared its ugly head in Arendelle, and with tragic results. The memory of Anna hanging off that cliff made her sick to her stomach every time she thought of it. If she actually succeeded in executing her peace plan, her next big problem to tackle was rescuing Anna.

“Oh, Mother!” she thought. “The stakes are so high! What if I make another mistake and hurt someone? Or many people? I’m not ready for this!”

But ready or not, she had to step up. Things couldn’t keep going as they were. Father’s military alliance with the Le Gumes was failing. Rumpelstiltskin was their last hope, his reputation for treachery aside. Belle believed Madam Morraine, but she knew Father wouldn’t, nor would he defer to her opinion as easily as he did to Mother’s.

Yet she must take the initiative. So with pen and paper in hand, she attempted to compose her very first diplomatic letter. And already she was stuck.

“How do I address him?” she wondered. By his name? It seemed too forward. As “the Dark One?” It rubbed her the wrong way. Simply as “Dear Sir?” That sounded ridiculous. Who would call the Dark One “dear?”

She fiddled with the crystal on her necklace, hoping it might give her an idea, but it didn’t help. It was empowered to work with fairy language, not plain English.

“I’ll have to fill in the salutation later,” she decided. Recalling the advice of her favorite governess, the one who taught her to love writing, she decided to just launch in and write from her heart. And though her heart was gripped with fear, she aimed to mask it under a proper and formal tone.

_We are writing from the Kingdom of Avonlea where we have been overrun by ogres. Having read of how you achieved peace at the end of the First Ogres War, we now seek your help._

She hesitated over the next part. What should she offer him in return? She knew Father would have ideas of his own, but in this, she had to follow her own instinct.

 _We will pay any price for the peace and safety of our people_.

She looked it over. It was brief, but to the point. And at a time like this, why be flowery?

If only she had magic of her own! Then she could just disappear from this carriage and be home already! But for the moment, she had only her own human power to rely on. All she could do was settle back into her seat and reread Morraine’s tale. Perhaps it might give her an inkling on how to improve the letter. At the very least, it could help her prepare for meeting Rumpelstiltskin in person.

Belle’s impression of Morraine grew stronger with each perusal. Even though she was wary of Rumpelstiltskin, she had spoken boldly and gotten what she wanted. She didn’t seem to suffer any negative consequences afterward, either. She had a long and happy life. Then again, Morraine hadn’t asked for magic.

“And all magic comes with a price.” The words of warning echoed in Belle’s ear even without ever hearing Rumpelstiltskin’s real voice.

“I can’t let that stop me,” she thought. Her circumstances were too dire. This wasn’t just a matter of correcting the historical record. People were dying in Avonlea! She had to _act_. “I will be as bold as Morraine when I meet him,” she told herself, “and I will stand by my letter. I will pay whatever price I must.”

But a new thing struck her also: Rumpelstiltskin’s “personal grief.” She hadn’t noticed it at first. Compared to the drama of the war’s end, it was a tiny detail. And Morraine, strictly upholding her end of the deal, left it vague. But it got Belle speculating. She guessed that like herself, Rumpelstiltskin had lost someone he loved at the hands of an ogre. The horrors of war left no one untouched.

The carriage reached the outskirts of Avonlea at dusk, but when the driver saw the ogres’ encampment, he pulled his horses to a halt. “You didn’t tell me there were ogres here! I’m turning back now!”

“You can’t just leave me in the middle of the forest!”

“I can and I will,” said the driver. “And don’t use this as an excuse to try and stiff me. For bringing me this close to ogres, you ought to pay extra!”

There was no point in arguing with him. She paid him, got out of the carriage, and started running with all her might. But instead of heading home, she ran to the village. It was downhill and easier to reach.

Belle was terrified, but she was also lucky. She reached the village without incident and ran to the home of her favorite people in town, the booksellers Prosper and Gabrielle Villeneuve. They had procured so many books for her and Mother over the years, they had grown to be close friends. In private, they dispensed with formalities like bowing and calling her “Princess.”

Like everyone else in town, they were hiding in their cottage. She had to pound on the door to get them to answer.

“Please!” she begged. “It’s me! Belle!”

“Belle!” exclaimed Prosper, unblocking the door and pulling her in quickly.

“Oh, my dear!” cried Gabrielle, embracing Belle immediately. Prosper boarded up the door again. “The whole kingdom has been dreadfully worried about you! Many people even despaired that you’d been killed.”

“I’m sorry I worried everyone,” said Belle. “I was worried about you, too. How have things been here?”

“Terrible when you first left,” answered Prosper, as they walked into the main room, “but then they got quiet. . . at least in the village. I’m sorry to tell you: they have the palace surrounded.”

Belle sank into a chair. Gabrielle sat beside her and squeezed her hand.

“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” Prosper went on, sitting opposite them. “I always thought that ogres just wipe out everything in sight. But this looks more like a targeted attack.”

“Because the first ogre was hurt on palace grounds,” said Belle. “Oh, I must get to Father!”

“No!” said Gabrielle. “It’s far too dangerous.”

Belle shook her head. “I know it sounds mad, but I’ve got an idea for a peace plan. I’ve been researching how the First Ogre War ended.” She pulled her book from her pack and laid it on the table.

“Looking to history to find a path to peace,” said Prosper, picking it up. “Your mother would have been proud.”

Belle’s eyes welled with tears. She had not gotten a chance to mourn yet, not fully. First Father and those horrid men he called “doctors” made her sleep through the funeral. Then in her anger, she’d run off to Arendelle, the stupidest, most impetuous thing she’d ever done. But except for the brief moment with Stealthy, she’d managed to hold back her grief. Now that she was finally with trusted friends, perhaps she should just give way.

“I miss her so much!” she choked. “How can I do this without her?”

Gabrielle put an arm around her and rocked her, as Mother might have.

They sat together wordlessly for a few minutes. When Prosper spoke up, it was with a plan. “If I’m correct and the ogres are leaving the commoners alone, I can bring you up to the palace in my wagon as long as you go in disguise. Dress as a peasant, and we’ll use the servants’ entrance. If it looks too dangerous, we can always turn back.”

“I have some old clothes you can borrow,” said Gabrielle.

“Oh, my friends!” said Belle, drying her tears. “Anyone else would make light of my ideas. Father probably will. But _you_ understand. I have to try everything I can for the sake of the kingdom, just the way Mother gave everything for me.”

She followed Gabrielle into the bedroom. From the back of her wardrobe, Gabrielle pulled out a blue and white peasant dress and a coarse but sturdy cloak of yellow and green. Belle put them on immediately.

“Look!” she said, pulling the cloak’s oversized hood over her head. “Nobody will even know it’s me!”

All three of them boarded the wagon. Prosper drove, his crossbow at his side, just in case. Like Belle’s sprint through the woods, they made it to the palace safe and unharmed.

“You’re delivering books _now_?” said the guard at the door. Belle pulled down her hood. “Princess!” he cried.

He rushed her inside, and as soon as the servants saw her, a great cheer rang through the palace. Everyone crowded around her and abandoned all sense of decorum and rank. The maids smothered her in kisses and hugs. Someone remembered to try and take her cloak and pack, but she clung to both. Then, a footman dashed off to call the king, and as soon as Belle could pull herself away from the maids, she was following after him. But Father heard all the commotion, so along with his own procession of servants and guards, was coming toward her. Belle ran and leapt into his arms. Everyone watching - servants, soldiers, and the Villeneuves - applauded.

“Oh my Belle! Thank the gods you’re all right!”

“I’m so sorry I worried you, Father. I will never leave in secret again.” She glanced back at the Villeneuves. “Can we honor my friends? They got me here safely.”

“You would honor commoners for a simple ride in a wagon?” sneered a deep voice from behind Father. Belle looked up and saw it was Gaston.

“And this is the man I must marry,” she thought. Then a sudden idea hit her. She pulled herself from Father’s embrace, stood before Prosper and Gabrielle, took off her earrings, and pinned one on each of them as though awarding them medals. Then she turned back to Gaston. “Will you escort my honorees home? A simple ride, but they may need protection. It would ease my mind if they had a guard.”

She didn’t look back to see how he took it. She simply walked off with Father into a private room.

“Belle, where have you been? Do you have any idea how much you worried us?”

“I’m sorry, Father, but you shouldn’t have used that potion on me. It only made me desperate to regain what I lost.”

“And did you?”

“No, but I found something else. I know how we can end the war!” She showed him her letter to Rumpelstiltskin.

He read it over. “Absolutely not, Belle. Anything but him.”

“He’s our only hope! Our army can’t beat the ogres, and neither can Lord Le Gume’s. We need magic. Rumpelstiltskin’s magic.”

“Do _not_ say his name! Don’t you know he can hear everyone who says it?”

Belle did _not_ know that, but it was welcome information. “Good! I want him to hear! We need him to come!”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. He’s crafty, and he’s dangerous!”

Belle was about to make a snappy retort when Morriane’s words came back to her. _He’d agree to turn a commoner into a king just because he thought it was funny._ “Father,” she said slowly as a new realization dawned on her, “you’ve dealt with him before.”

His silence was as good as an admission.

“How much do we owe him?” Belle asked.

“We owe him nothing! I kept my end of the deal!”

Belle looked at him skeptically. “Tell me the truth, Father. Please.”

He sighed. “I’ve always said you were way too clever for your own good. And mine.”

He _did_ always say it, and she always hated it. It was as though her intelligence were an inconvenience to him. He would never say such a thing to Mother. “Father, you know you cannot deceive me for long. Just like you couldn’t trick me about Mother’s death.”

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “All right, I will tell you. But I’m not proud of it.” He heaved another sigh. “A long time ago, when you were just a baby and Mother and I were still commoners, I wasn’t. . .held in high esteem in town. You know I was a tinkerer.”

“And King George paid for your inventions with territory until eventually had your own small kingdom. That’s what you always told me anyway.”

“Yes, well, I got . . . a little help making that first contact. But I paid the price, I promise you.”

“How much?”

“Belle, you’ve got to understand. He plays with kings like they’re pieces on a chess board. For whatever reason, he wanted to bankrupt King George, so I was set up as his creditor – one of many. I grew rich and powerful, but never too powerful. As long as I remained a thorn in King George’s side but not an overt threat, the Dark One’s terms were satisfied. To put it his way, our interests were aligned. I just had to limit my expansion and follow your mother’s counsel.”

“But, Father, you _did_ try to expand, and that was against Mother’s counsel! You broke the deal, and that left us vulnerable!”

“Belle, please. . .”

“Father, mark the letter with your seal right now! We _must_ get his help. There is no other way!”

He cringed.

“If you do not stamp it, I will go find him myself! I just proved I can travel alone!”

“No, Belle, I will not have you going out there again. It’s not safe. I’ll sign and stamp it as you wish, but we will change your offer of ‘any price.’ The gods only know what he’ll twist that into. We will offer him treasure.”

Belle jumped from her chair and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Father! You’ll see! It’s what’s best for the kingdom. You will not regret it.”

And so, the letter was signed, stamped, sealed, and dispatched. Once the news of it had spread through the palace, everyone praised King Maurice’s sage plan. Whatever his fears of dealing with the Dark One, he now had his officers’ support. Everyone agreed that only the Dark One had the power to get rid of the ogres.

Belle did not bother to claim credit. Mother wouldn’t have. Besides, preparing for Rumpelstiltskin’s visit was a much wiser use of her time. Unfortunately, her maid wasted over an hour by insisting on dressing her in a ballgown.

“You should never have let Sir Gaston see you in those peasant clothes,” she scolded. “Now we have to correct the impression.”

Belle submitted to the inevitable fuss over her hair and dress. It wasn’t worth fighting over. But she bolted to the library the minute she could. She spent the rest of the evening researching more history on ogres, then reviewed Morraine’s tale until she had practically memorized it, and finally, because she wished more than ever that Mother were there, she returned to the old, familiar lessons of _Her Handsome Hero_.

The later it grew, the more violent the ogres became. The palace walls shook from their fighting outside. Messengers kept coming with worse and worse news until [everyone was on edge waiting for Rumpelstiltskin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x3wUeBXtlVg). When he didn’t show, the guards locked the gates, and Father despaired.

“He could be on his way right now, Father,” she assured him. And if he wasn’t, she’d go out and find him herself. Even if that meant breaking her word to Father and sneaking out again.

But before she even began to plan how she would get past the guards, there came a loud pounding at the door. “It’s him!”

The guards unlocked the door. Everyone looked around expectantly, but the hallway was completely empty. Confused and disappointed, they all turned back. What would they do _now_?

“Well, that was a bit of a letdown!”

And there he was, sitting in Father’s throne and mocking them all like a mischievous child.

Belle had never seen such an odd-looking man. But even with his scaly green skin, she did not find him so terribly repulsive. He carried himself with a certain grace and gallantry. Belle felt like she could stare at him endlessly. But she caught herself and remembered Morraine’s words: _I could not let myself be sidetracked. Not by his questions, not by his taunting, and not by the sheer intimidation of his bizarre presence._

“I must listen to his words carefully,“ she resolved to herself. “That’s the key to understanding his terms.”

His banter made it difficult. No matter how many times Morraine mentioned his jokes and giggles, nothing could have prepared her for how distracting they were! In the midst of this discussion of life and death and war and peace, he - the person holding the key to it all – had the light-hearted air of a court jester.

But it was when he and Father began negotiating a price that Belle was really thrown off. He did not want gold. He did not need treasure. He asked for _her._

“No!” protested Father.

Gaston blocked her with his arm. “The young lady is engaged to me,” he declared.

“Perhaps so,” she thought, “but I am not your possession. Nobody decides my fate but me.”

Of course, none of these men seemed to acknowledge that. Nor was there much difference, really, between her impending marriage to Gaston and what Rumpelstiltskin was asking for. She was just a bargaining chip either way.

Except Rumpelstiltskin made clear that he wasn’t asking for her hand. He wasn’t even suggesting something more untoward. “I am not looking for _love_ ,” he said disdainfully. “I am looking for a caretaker. . . for my rather large estate.”

Now, that was different! She could actually work to earn the aid she was asking for. She would not have to compromise her body _or_ her heart!

She wanted to hear more, but Father would not consider it. “Get out!” he commanded. “Leave!”

Rumpelstiltskin made to walk away. Gaston pushed her further back, out of the negotiation.

“Does Gaston actually believe he’s protecting me?” she wondered. “This man just said he could single-handedly take care of the ogres for us. Gaston is no match for him.”

Rumpelstiltskin locked eyes with her as he passed by. He seemed to be answering Father, but she knew whom he meant to address. “As you wish,” he said.

“Here is my chance,” she thought. “I must speak up now.”

“No, wait!”

He stopped and turned around. Belle thought of Morraine again, asking for what she wanted even when she was nervous inside.

“My family, my friends, they will all be safe?”

“You have my word,” he bowed.

“Then you have mine. I will go with you. . .forever.”

“Deal!” he laughed.

And that was it. Her freedom for the safety of the kingdom. Done, just like that.

Father begged her to change her mind. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t want to say goodbye either. It was a terrible price to pay. But people’s lives were hanging in the balance. This is what the kingdom needed. Leadership meant making sacrifices.

She did not shed a tear as she separated from Father. She was determined to remain perfectly stoic. She simply stood beside Rumpelstiltskin, waiting for her first command as his servant. But strangely, he said nothing. He merely inched his hand toward her, his eyes asking permission to touch her.

“The customary sealing of the deal,” she thought, remembering the handshakes in Morraine’s account: one between him and the ogre and then one with Morraine herself. He always sealed his deals with a touch.

She cocked her head in acquiescence. What else could she do? His fingertips grazed her arm ever so slightly as they walked out together.

Belle did not look back at Father or anyone else as she left the palace. She made her choice, and now she must live with it. She would have to face her new, uncertain future all alone.


	6. The Signing Ceremony

“You were not prepared for this,” Rumpelstiltskin observed when they were standing alone, outside the palace walls. “You did not even pack.”

“Why would I?” Belle thought to herself. “I didn’t know you’d demand so much.”

She did not say this aloud. Nor did she admit how little she wanted to turn back for her things. She’d gotten through her goodbyes without shedding a tear, but she wasn’t sure she could hold out a second time. Still, there was no other way.

“Well, no matter,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Just think of a few things, and I will send them to the castle.”

She looked at him blankly.

“For example,” he said with a note of exasperation, “what do you wear on a cool night like this? A cloak, I assume?”

The first cloak that came to mind was the coarse green and yellow one she’d borrowed from Gabrielle, not her own fur-trimmed cape. But the moment she thought of it, she was wearing it.

“This isn’t actually mine,” she said, looking down at herself. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Very well then. Think of your friend, and I will leave a gold coin and a note for her.”

“But –”

“It’s a simple purchase, not a deal. She will owe me nothing.”

Belle stared at him. A gold coin was an exorbitant price to pay for such a plain cloak. But for the Villeneuves’ sake, she couldn’t pass it up. And since he could spin his own gold. . .

“May I make another purchase from the same friend?” she asked, thinking of the blue dress.

“If you must. But that’s all for clothing. I will allow a few books. I gather you are fond of reading.”

Grateful to be getting books at all, Belle closed her eyes and began envisioning her favorites. “ _Her Handsome Hero_ , for sure,” she thought. “My pen and journal. And. . .”

“Enough!”

Startled, her eyes flew back open. He was now sizing her up. He frowned disapprovingly, much in the way she had seen the housekeeper look over a maid whose uniform was askew. In the next instant, Belle was wearing long, leather riding gloves.

She ran her finger over the elbow-length sleeve. “Thank you,” she whispered, embarrassed at being found lacking.

“Hmmph!” he sniffed, making her feel worse. Yet his next gesture was one of incongruous chivalry. He offered her his arm.

Belle balked. She'd tolerated the brush against her elbow because that was how he sealed his deals, but linking arms with him was beyond the call of duty. She'd agreed to work for him, nothing more.

“No time for fussing, dearie. We're keeping the ogres waiting.”

“We’re meeting ogres? What for?”

“To sign the peace treaty, of course. That _is_ what you asked of me.”

Now Belle felt stupid. When she asked for his help, all she’d imagined was him magically sending the ogres away. She never dreamed there would be this much pomp and circumstance. Even Father had never signed a peace treaty! Avonlea was so small and quiet, he never needed to. Belle felt completely out of her depths. 

“Transport will be easier if you would just take my arm,” said Rumpelstiltskin impatiently.

Uneasy as she was, she could not disobey him. She grasped onto his arm, and he snapped the fingers of his other hand. A puff of smoke surrounded them, and suddenly, the ground seemed to fall out from under her feet.

“Oh!” she cried out.

They were floating through the ether, but the only thing she could see around her was smoke. She clung to his arm as though her life depended on it. The whole trip only lasted a second, but he was laughing at her when they landed.

“You may let go now, dearie,” he giggled. “Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

Belle snatched back her hand and took a step away from him. “No, it didn’t hurt,” she thought, “but it didn’t feel _normal_.”

She tried to collect herself and get her bearings. They were no longer at the palace, but on top of a hill in the forest. They could see the entire lay of the kingdom from up there: the palace, the village, and the two army camps.

He pulled out the legendary Dark One dagger. She gasped at the sight of it, but he ignored her. He held it skyward, just as Morraine had described, and it absorbed some of the moonlight. The engraved letters of his name shimmered.

A beam of white light streamed out of the dagger and up through the air. One of the ogres took notice and walked toward them. His noisy footsteps made the ground tremble. Belle was nearly trembling herself, her heart was pounding so hard.

“Here, drink that,” said Rumpelstiltskin, handing her a vial of chalky liquid.

“What is it?”

“An import from Wonderland. It will make you grow to the height of an ogre. Perfectly safe.”

She considered the vial doubtfully while he pulled out one of his own. He downed it one gulp and then began doubling, tripling, and quadrupling in size. It all happened so fast, she felt like _she_ must be shrinking as he shot up through the sky. She swallowed her potion and caught up just in time to be introduced to the ogre.

“Chief Shrek, allow me to present Princess Belle of Avonlea.”

The ogre bowed. “On behalf of ogrekind, we thank you for sparing the life of our fellow Ibber.”

Belle was too stunned to speak. Ibber must be the ogre she freed from Gaston’s trap! Amid all those battles, she didn’t think news of her tiny deed would reach the Ogre Chief himself. She longed to ask him some questions, but Rumpelstiltskin would brook no delays. He wanted to get down to business.

Rumpelstiltskin waved his hand, and a table with three chairs, perfectly sized for them, appeared. Even sitting down, they were so big that they were overlooking the treetops.

“Peace treaty,” said Rumpelstiltskin, and three sheets of parchment unrolled on the table. “For your review.” 

With another wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin conjured up a lit candelabra and three quill pens. Belle and Shrek began reading their copies of the treaty.

_Shrek, Chief of the Ogres, representing all ogrekind, and Belle, Princess of Avonlea, representing herself as well as Avonlea, its leadership, and its subjects, hereby agree to leave each other in peace. To this end, Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, guarantees that he will fortify the ogres’ barrier and will maintain a protective force over Avonlea. This treaty is binding now and forever._

“We agree,” said Chief Shrek.

“As do we,” said Belle.

“It’s a deal then,” said Rumpelstiltskin. They passed the treaties around the table, taking turns signing each copy. 

Rumpelstiltskin looked them over when they were finished. He wrinkled his nose and passed them back to Belle. “You must sign with your title,” he told her. “’Belle, Princess of Avonlea.’”

Flustered, Belle made the correction. Rumpelstiltskin scrutinized them once more. Satisfied at last, he handed one copy to Chief Shrek.

“Ordinarily, I would simply send you back,” he said, “but the people of Avonlea need to witness your departure. March your troops out in procession, and when the villagers recognize that you are going, I will signal and send you the rest of the way.”

“That works for us,” said the Chief. The two shook hands, but when Shrek got up, not only did he bow to Belle again, he kissed her hand. “Our deepest apologies for your mother’s death,” he said.

“Th- thank you!” stammered Belle.

Evoking Mother’s memory now was a bittersweet tribute at best. She was the prime martyr of the war, but her inspiration guided the peace. Belle only managed to keep her composure because she knew that Mother would have.

“I know an apology is not really enough,” said the Chief, “but at least we have peace now.”

“Yes, we do,” said Belle. She glanced shyly at Rumpelstiltskin. “Thank you.”

Just like Chief Shrek, he bowed.

Shrek saluted him and then turned back to his encampment. He covered so much ground so quickly, it did not take him long to give his army the order to begin packing themselves out.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled two more vials out from his cloak. He spilled a drop of liquid onto the table and then passed a vial to Belle. “The antidote. Drink up.”

She obeyed him immediately that time. If she hadn’t, she would have broken the chair she was sitting on. Like everything else on and around the table, it was shrinking to its regular size. 

“I will store these at home,” said Rumpelstiltskin, making the two resized treaties disappear. He made Shrek’s chair disappear, too. Only the candelabra and quills remained.

“Contract of Employment,” he said, as two more pieces of parchment spread out before them.

“A contract,” repeated Belle, “for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He’s making another joke, and I am the butt of it,” she thought, recalling Morraine’s words again. _He raises commoners into royalty because he thinks it’s funny_.

“He does it in reverse, too. One minute, he’s bowing to me, and the next, he’s making me sign over my life.”

But Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t laughing. The contract lying in front of her was actually longer and more complicated than the peace treaty.

 _In payment for services procured by Belle, Princess of Avonlea, and delivered by Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, both parties agree to the following conditions and terms_ :

The first several clauses began “Belle shall,” and they listed her new responsibilities. She did not get far in reading them. Her eyes began brimming with tears. What if he grew dissatisfied with her performance? She’d made a few blunders already. Would the people of Avonlea suffer for her mistakes? A few tears dropped onto the page.

“No, no! You’ll destabilize the ink!” he scolded, levitating the contracts so that they floated out of reach.

She promptly dried her tears. He lowered the contracts back down. She tried reading her copy, but it was no use. She was too distraught to concentrate. All she grasped was that the last set of clauses began exactly the same way, “As long as Belle remains in his employ. . .”

Belle had wanted so badly to be like Morraine, to be clever enough to make a deal with Rumpelstiltskin and emerge unscathed. But she turned out to be just like everyone else: caught in a life-sized knot, with herself stuck in the middle.

“How do I sign this one?” she asked morosely. “As ‘Belle, the maid?’”

“Just ‘Belle’ will do.”

She signed both copies, and so did he. Then he whisked them away with the quills. She sat there feeling utterly hollow.

“Look!” he said, pointing at the village and army camp.

Soldiers and villagers alike were watching the ogres march away. As promised, Rumpelstiltskin pointed his dagger upward, and the silvery moonlight shone out of it. Then, in a massive cloud of smoke, the ogres disappeared.

A great cheer erupted all over Avonlea. The soldiers began breaking camp. The townsfolk came pouring out of their homes and onto the public square. Friends ran to friends and hugged one another. Belle thought she could even make out the happy tunes of fiddlers.

How she wished she was down there, celebrating with everyone! But she must stay here, with her new master. The full weight of her decision was sinking in.

“I will never see Avonlea, or anyone in it, again!” she thought as tears refilled her eyes.

She’d always dreamed of getting away from there, of seeing more of the world. Sometimes she even complained about how provincial her life was. But now, with magic exploding around her at breakneck speed, all that dull sameness was suddenly precious.

“At least Father and the villagers will be safe,” she told herself. But her tears were beginning to fall.

She remembered her oversized hood and pulled it over her head. There was no hiding from the mercurial monster she’d just bound herself to, but she was not going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“As steady as a heartbeat in the negotiation,” he said, “but they always break at the execution.”

And then Belle couldn’t stop herself. Her floodgates burst forth. Soon she wasn’t just crying; she was sobbing. Her whole body shook until she was off her chair and kneeling on the ground, weeping over that beloved bit of forest earth.

Belle did not know how long she remained bent over the ground like that. She simply cried until her energy was spent. Then, she caught her breath in short stutters and gradually became self-conscious. No servant could ever behave like this at home! She got up quickly and curtsied to her new master. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

He did not reprimand her. He did not even mock. He simply held out his arm like an unenthusiastic partner leading her to a dance set. With a matching lack of enthusiasm, she took it.

Once again, smoke surrounded them and brought them somewhere else. The floating sensation didn’t surprise Belle as much the second time, but she could see they had traveled much further in that brief instant. It was colder in his part of the Land. There was a chill in the air and frost on the ground. She shivered as he waved the great doors of his castle open.

His castle was bigger than Father’s, but much drearier. They stepped into the foyer. Evidently, he kept no other servants, so he removed her cloak with a snap of his fingers. It vanished completely, leaving Belle feeling bare and powerless. This man could go anywhere, do anything, and hurt her anytime he chose. She was entirely at his mercy.

Cackling, he led her through his Great Hall. With its banquet table and imposing tapestries, it wasn’t all that different than any other grand home she had seen, except the back wall was lined with cabinet upon cabinet of objects she assumed were magical. At the side of the room stood his famous spinning wheel.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Let’s just call it, ‘your room.’” He opened an iron door and pushed her inside.

“My _room_?” she exclaimed in horror.

It was a bare cell in a dungeon. There wasn’t even a bed. No favorite book or journal to give her a little comfort. No blue dress to change into in the morning when she started her maid duties. Just her cloak, which would have to serve as both pillow _and_ blanket.

“You can’t just leave me here!” she shouted when she heard him bolt the door behind her. She pounded on it, but he didn’t answer. He probably disappeared the second the door was locked.

She sank down onto the cold, stone floor. 

“I guess it serves me right,” she thought. “I let Anna get caught by that witch, so now I’m in prison, too.” Belle sniffled. “At least this time, I’ve only harmed myself.”

A fresh batch of tears welled up. Belle thought she’d cried herself empty back in the forest, but it seemed her sorrow would never end. And there was no reason to hold back now. Her pride shattered, she let loose. She curled up with her cloak, and for the rest of the night, sobbed and keened for home.

  



	7. The Prophecy

Belle’s weeping pierced Rumpelstiltskin right to his core. He didn’t think he could stand it much longer, but he knew he had to. She needed to get it out of her system. But more than that, she was sparking a spectacular renewal in Avonlea. In his vast collection of human tears, he’d never come across any as potent. He saw that the instant they landed on her contract. He was glad to seal the deal with them, but no more than a drop or two was necessary. The rest rightly belonged to her kingdom. If Belle knew what her tears were accomplishing, she would welcome her own sorrow. Which, of course, would defeat the purpose.

Forcing her to sleep in the dungeon was also crucial to her sacrifice. She had to believe she was living with an irredeemable monster. It was practically the truth, anyway. The Dark One had reigned for so long, he felt permanent.

Rumpelstiltskin sent his mind into her cell to listen in more closely. “Just give in to sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted. Please, Belle.”

Slowly, her cries died down. She coughed a bit, and then went silent. “Good,” he thought. “She responds to my ‘please.’” He warmed up the cell and softened the floor.

He was setting up a maid’s quarters at the opposite end of the castle, but just as Belle was not yet of a mind to accept it, the room was not ready to receive her. Furnishing it with the right magic took careful consideration. So far, other than the basic bed, bath, and wardrobe, he put in the few personal belongings he had allowed her, along with the two magical items he knew to be in her possession: Madam Morraine’s book and the Mirror of Souls. There was also the crystal she was wearing around her neck, which was as strong a sign as the others, but he would not take it away from her, nor was the magic within it his to track.

The spell in Morraine’s book had unraveled to completion. He left it among Belle’s other books. The Mirror of Souls was the real question. With a flick of his wrist, he brought it to the table, tightly covered so that he could not look in it himself. He hadn’t designed it for his direct use. It was meant for the maiden - or maidens - of the fairy prophecy.

He sat as his wheel, trying to recall the original prophecy verbatim. The precise words of any prophecy always carried great weight. He sent the wheel swirling backwards. That sometimes helped when he was thinking of times far past.

The image of the careless novice in her ridiculous pink frills came right back to him. “Redemption is possible for everyone,” she proclaimed, parroting the standard line.

“Shoo, pest!” he said, knowing full well that she wouldn’t leave until her message was complete.

“Your redemption will come from a fair maid’s love,” she continued.

“I’m to receive True Love’s Kiss, am I?” he laughed. “My, but you’re a blind little bat.”

“It might be true love, but a more incremental cleansing will precede it.”

“Ah, a cleansing,” he repeated. “Just what my blackened heart needs. A fair maid to dust out the cobwebs.”

“Will you let me finish?” wailed the novice, breaking protocol.

He giggled. In this realm of hopeful souls and fairy magic, no one was so cynical as to interrupt a fairy prophecy.

“A woman clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart.”

“As foretold by the fairy loose of tongue and full of rubbish.”

“Nova!” came the scolding voice of Reul Ghorm. The novice abruptly disappeared.

“Delightful prophecy,” he snickered, “but that novice of yours needs more training. Don’t you to warn them not to consort with me?”

“You were meant to get that message, and you know it,” said Reul Ghorm. “Stop playing innocent.”

“I daresay if such a woman were ever born to the world, you would snap her up and recruit her to your own ranks.”

“Any woman who can redeem you, Rumpelstiltskin, would be doing a service to the realm even greater than a fairy’s. She would have my blessing whether she joined us or not.”

He clapped his hand to his heart and sighed dramatically, as though shocked and insulted. Reul Ghorm knew better than to take his bait. She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “You’ve heard your prophecy. Now do with it what you choose.”

“Indeed I will!” he called after her as she flew away.

What he chose to do, at least at first, was nothing. He simply waited and watched. Prophecies always unfolded in their own way. There were more sides to them than anyone could predict, even immortals and Seers. Even Reul Ghorm herself.

“But did Reul Ghorm see through _me_?” he wondered. The question had crossed his mind many times, both then and since. Because underneath all his mockery, he was celebrating when he received that prophecy. Despite his bitter history with fairies, he harbored a deep and secret faith in them. Until the novice approached him, he believed the door to his redemption was locked shut. The romantic part was bunk, but the slow, incremental pace suited him perfectly.

Rumpelstiltskin knew better than anybody just how badly he needed to change. The trouble was, he needed his Dark Power, too. He had to rely on it to get himself to Bae. But Bae only ever wanted his Papa, not the Dark One. When they were finally reunited, Bae would expect him to revert to his old self. And as he had so disastrously proven, he would never do that on his own. He needed the prophesied woman to help him. And so, from that point forward, he began searching for a woman who fit the description. He did it even while he was laying the groundwork for the Curse. He could pursue his Dark and Light paths in tandem. He just had to take painstaking care to keep their timelines separate.

Bae’s childhood friend Morraine had been the first maiden, and she began even before the prophecy had been revealed. She was more matron than maiden by the time she showed up in his castle, but she was indeed clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart. He’d recognized those traits in her when she was just a girl. That was why he had chosen her as his one witness on the battlefield.

She came with a proposition to redeem his legacy. His legacy, not _him._ A logical, just, and thoroughly unromantic unfolding.

But also, kind of funny. His wisecrack about a literal maid to clean him up was as prophetic as everything else! He could barely contain his giggles when his redeemer declared her intentions. She was the maid at the village inn.

Of humble origins himself, Rumpelstiltskin favored laborers. It was why he elevated the worthy ones to positions of power. Anyone who had ever been a peasant would not demand undue sacrifices of the people. His political intrigue kept him as busy as his Light and Dark paths, but the results could go either way. It was all a great balancing act.

He stopped the wheel and threaded in the straw. It was time to tie past and present together.

He never elevated Morraine to any recognized status. That wasn’t her destiny. But she proved herself worthy of her prophesied fate the moment she said, “Please.”

Rumpelstiltskin had worked out his special magic words with Bae when he first got his Power. “Please” made the hearer do what the asker wanted. “Thank you” recognized and rewarded a favor. “I’m sorry” inclined the hearer toward forgiveness and cooperation. It was all a variation on Name magic, which he perfected to new heights. Saying someone’s Name correctly could strengthen or weaken them in accordance with the speaker’s will.

Morraine’s “please” went right to Rumpelstiltskin the man, not Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One. She still remembered the old spinner, and it was to him she was making her appeal. Her plea was so effective, he knew he could trust her to use his Name in writing. She would strengthen his Light side, the side all but extinguished by Darkness.

The wheel began producing lace, as he knew it would when he got to Belle’s role. Until her, Morraine’s tale had gone unnoticed. He was a fool to think it could have been otherwise. Most mortals ignored history. Their attention span was as fleeting as their own short lives.

He paused his spinning to listen in on Belle in the dungeon. He breathing had grown deep and rhythmic. A coarser person might call it “snoring.”

“Cogsworth!” he called to the clock on the mantlepiece. “When Belle has rested enough to begin work, it shall be daybreak around the castle. A half hour for the rest of us.”

“Very good, sir,” said Cogsworth, his hands winding forward and back to adjust the time.

“And you might as well get to work yourself,” he added, turning Cogsworth back to his human form. “Let me know if you have any breakthroughs.”

“Of course.” The butler bowed and headed downstairs to his designated corner of the vault.

Once alone again, Rumpelstiltskin set the wheel back in motion. Between Morraine and Belle, he’d tried other maids. Since his redemption was to come incrementally, he assumed each had the potential to bring him another step closer.

He chose women of all ages and from all walks of life. Some had magical potential. Others were simply excellent cooks. But he always tested them in exactly the same way. Where did he feel it when they said “please” or “thank you?” If their Light could penetrate his Darkness, even a little, he offered them a deal.

Many were damsels in distress. He’d be summoned by some pretty maiden trapped in a witch’s tower or sorcerer’s cage. “ _Please_ help me out of here,” she’d beg, only too willing to exchange one prison in for another. “Oh, thank you!” she’d cry, signing her contract.

An outside observer might put Belle in that category, but she came with far more gravitas. She was already a signatory on the ogres’ treaty, and it was just the beginning. The strength of her “thank you” those few times in Avonlea’s forest seemed a sure sign of great things to come.

“But I am getting ahead of myself,” he thought, pushing the wheel backwards again.

The commoners sold themselves into his service. Sometimes their parents sealed the deal. “Spin us some gold, sir, and my daughter will work off the debt.”

That was how he got Candace, his youngest maid ever. She was just a child when she came. Her “pleases” and “thank yous” were completely ineffectual, but she aroused his pity anyway. Any parents who were willing to abandon their daughter to the Dark One didn’t deserve to keep her. And Candace turned out to be both magical _and_ a good cook. Such was the effect of having grown up in a family with too many mouths to feed.

Candace darkened as she got older. She was thoroughly useless as a redeemer. He’d really misread the signs with her, crediting the sympathy she awakened in him to a quality within her, instead of the obvious similarity between her life and his own. He created the Mirror of Souls after that. He would never let himself make such a mistake again. Only a woman who fit the fairy’s description could use it. The Mirror could be objective, whereas he was not.

But the Dark One could always recoup from Rumpelstiltskin’s losses. If Candace couldn’t help on his Light path, he’d use her for the Dark. He taught her potion brewing, and her knack for cooking served her well there. Her magic never extended far beyond the culinary, but he didn’t need much from her. She was just a minor annoyance to complicate things when Regina got too big for her britches. Whenever Light failed to conquer Darkness, which was most of the time, Darkness had to be kept in check with opposing Darkness. That was why he’d been forced to become the Dark One himself.

“I am getting way off track,” he thought, noticing that he was now spinning licorice instead of lace. “This is not about Candace. It’s about the Mirror. Did anyone before Belle ever use it?”

He’d never seen evidence of it, not even from Regina, who had a hidden Light side that could have allowed her access. She fit the description herself once, back before he used her resentment of her mother to turn her Dark. And she was a master at Mirror Magic. If she ever got hold of that Mirror, she could easily thwart it to her own evil ends. But he’d done a thorough search of her palace and never found it.

“Candace was hanging onto it the whole time,” he concluded. “A trophy of her one and only triumph over me.”

Candace stole the Mirror when she ran away. He always left his maids an easy exit when he tired of them. When their “pleases” and “thank yous” hardened into hatred, it was time to let them go. As long as they didn’t steal anything, they got out without a scratch. But Candace _had_ stolen, and since she was impure of heart and not especially sharp of mind, the Mirror took her vision.

“Yet the theft was her contribution,” he thought, glad to have finally resolved it. Her hoarding tendencies protected the Mirror from Regina’s corrupting grasp. Then, when Belle was ready for it, the Mirror found its way to her. Darkness served the Light, as it was supposed to.

“Another step uncovered. But what am I to do with all this licorice?” He clapped his hands twice. “Mrs. Potts!”

The first clap transformed the teapot on the table into his housekeeper. The second clap brought her son out of the teacup. The boy began eyeing the licorice right away.

“Hold yourself back, young man. That’s what you’re here to learn.”

The boy obediently put his hands behind his back.

“Get breakfast ready,” he told Mrs. Potts. “You won’t have to serve, though. I’ve got someone new for that. Her Name is Belle. You’ll be training her in.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. She headed off to the kitchen with her son in tow.

“Experience does have its advantages,” he thought as she walked away.

Mrs. Potts had been one of his wiser additions. Neither she nor her son had a trace of magic, but their arrival was portentous.

He found them when the boy was trespassing on his property. The mother chased after him, as any sensible parent would. No child was safe on the Dark One’s grounds. But whatever danger she might face herself, Mrs. Potts was determined to get her son out of harm’s way.

He watched the boy dash ahead of his mother and take aim at a squirrel with his slingshot. Rumpelstiltskin readied himself for the pounce. Just as the boy was about to let the stone fly, Rumpelstiltskin went visible and grabbed him by the collar. He had no time to make a run for it.

“Aha!” shouted Rumpelstiltskin. “A budding huntsman taking advantage of my grounds! Well, I’m a skilled huntsman myself. And you, laddie, have just been trapped!”

“NOOOO!” screamed the boy, as his mother came running up, out of breath.

“NO!” she echoed, falling to her knees. “Please, sir! I beg of you! Spare him!”

“Spare him?” he repeated in surprise. “I’m not going to _kill_ him, dearie. I am merely taking him prisoner. I can think of many uses for an able-bodied young boy.”

“Take me instead!” she begged. “I’ll cook and clean for you! I’ll do anything you ask. Just let him go. Please.”

The “please” hit him right on target. “A mother’s love,” he thought. It was a tack he’d never tried before. His Inner Seer looked them over. Her Name was Beatrice Potts, a mother of twelve with only three left at home. The boy was her youngest, named Richard and nicknamed Chip. She might indeed do the trick. Especially with the boy nearby.

“No deal,” he said, glowering. “I will not release him. If you want to stay with him, here’s what I propose. You can be my housekeeper, and he will be a boy-of-all-work. He’ll help you a little, and sometimes he’ll assist the stable hand. He won’t have his freedom, but at least he’ll have you.”

He cackled to scare them, but scared or not, she couldn’t refuse. Her son would not be lost to her. Who would dare ask the Dark One for more?

A condition of their contract was that they had to remain inanimate objects when they weren’t working. He couldn’t allow that rambunctious young boy to run free in his castle. There was no end to the trouble he could kick up. It also effectively blocked every avenue for them to escape.

Escape. The very thought of it made his anger surge. The flames in the fireplace jumped and crackled. Before Mrs. Potts, he’d attempted to capture Anna of Arendelle. He would never let a fiasco like _her_ happen again. Not only had she slipped past him, she took the Sorcerer’s Hat with her. He was lucky he still had his dagger.

His ears pricked up. Belle was tossing and turning in her sleep. Had the roar of the fire disturbed her, or was it something more? Could Belle and Anna have some connection? He couldn’t see how. Anna was from the north, and Belle the south, and both were sheltered princesses who rarely ever left their homes.

The lace he was spinning was now coming out frayed. “My anger at Anna is spoiling it,” he observed. “I must calm down.”

Well, really, there was no sense in raging over Anna anymore. The Hat was worth it, but she was not. Why should he care about the loss of a pearl now that he’d found a sapphire to take her place?

“Mrs. Potts?” he called.

The maid came out of the kitchen. “Yes, sir?”

“There’s a magical mirror wrapped up on the table. Bring it down to Cogsworth to store in the vault.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though unmagical, Mrs. Potts showed proper reverence for the Mirror. Or good, old-fashioned fear. Either way, it didn’t matter what she felt. What mattered was what she would see. As she was cautiously picking it up, Rumpelstiltskin lifted his pinky finger ever so slightly until the wrap loosened and the corner was exposed. He averted his eyes but angled his face so that she would see his reflection.

Startled, she gasped and then hastily put the cover back on. But as she carried the Mirror downstairs, he couldn’t help noticing her glance at him with more curiosity than usual.

When she returned, Cogsworth was with her, his shoulders slumped.

“No progress, I take it?”

“No, sir.”

Addressing Mrs. Potts, he said, “The new maid will need breakfast. Have Chip leave some tea and biscuits outside the dungeon door at sunrise.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, curtsying and returning to the kitchen.

That left him and Cogsworth. They regarded each other in silence, two lonely scholars, partnered in a perpetually failing experiment. Aside from himself, Rumpelstiltskin had never known anyone so secretive. But he trusted Cogsworth to share his success, if he ever had any. His contract required it, and his release depended on it.

Cogsworth bowed and allowed himself be turned into a clock again. When he was back on the mantelpiece, the sky outside began growing lighter. Rumpelstiltskin kept spinning through dawn, then paused to listen for Chip’s footsteps walking back and forth from kitchen to dungeon. Once Chip’s task was done, he snapped his fingers and changed the boy and his mother back into a teacup and teapot. Belle would find them in the kitchen when she began her morning’s work.

“She’ll soon be out to serve my tea,” he thought, snapping her breakfast into her cell. Suddenly a little whimsy overtook him. He set the wheel in motion again and began to sing:

_In distant times, in days of old,_

_a novice fairy once foretold_

_that some fair maid with vision clear_

_would change the Dark One’s whole veneer._

_For underneath that thick green skin_

_his long lost soul tormented him._

_He craved escape; he sought release_

_to be again a man of peace._

_He searched the world from north to south,_

_but very few maids came about._

_Some helped a tad, and others less,_

_so Darkness reigned and caused distress._

_And to the Dark One most of all,_

_for he must heed its beck and call._

_The war within him rages on._

_Has all his former goodness gone?_

_And now arrives a heart so pure,_

_the Dark One cannot long endure._

_Yet even Darkness has a role._

_It’s far beyond one monster’s soul._

_To vanquish it is not the way._

_Just teach the Darkness to obey._

_It’s to the Light the Dark must kneel._

_So says the Dark One at his wheel._

_Around and round the world keeps spinning._

_Every end’s a new beginning._

_But nothing simply stays the same,_

_not in this ever-changing game._

_Pull a strand in one direction,_

_and you’ll reveal unseen connections._

_Yet we are tasked to put to rights_

_this fragile weave of Dark and Light._

He moved to the table when he finished his song, and then Belle entered the Great Hall, carrying the tea tray. Her eyes were still puffy from all her crying, but he could see the questions forming behind them. She must have heard the final verses. That ought to be enough to get that sharp mind going.

But Rumpelstiltskin had questions of his own. “Who do you see when you look at me?” he wondered. “The beast who threw you in the dungeon or the man who makes peace with ogres?”

If she had the vision to look past the one and continue reaching the other, he would spend eternity rewarding her with everything her pure heart desired.


	8. Mama Bea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shows [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5Ik4RIo0P8) from the perspective of a new character. If you're unfamiliar with the original TV show, I recommend you watch it.

Beatrice “Mama Bea” Potts woke back up as soon the new maid touched her handle. It was different than when the master woke her. He usually just restored her body and put her to work.

“I’m still a teapot,” she thought, “but I can see and hear.” This was something new. She wondered if she could also speak, but she wouldn’t dare try. If the master knew she was awake, he probably wanted her silent, and if he didn’t, that was all the more reason to keep quiet.

“I can think, too,” she realized. “What a curious, in-between state this is!”

She looked over at the teacups surrounding her on the tray. Which one was Chip? They all looked exactly the same.

The master was rambling on, giving the girl her list of responsibilities. Dusting, sweeping, laundry, straw gathering, and serving meals, but no cooking. That, apparently, remained her job.

“I wonder if she even knows how to cook,” thought Mama Bea. She certainly wasn’t dressed for duty. Serving breakfast in a ballgown, for goodness’ sake!

Mama Bea guessed she was one of those girls who had grown up wealthy, but whose family had fallen on hard times. Young women often entered service by that route. Usually, they became ladies’ maids. The educated ones became governesses. But ending up in the Dark One’s castle meant there was more. The only reason anyone was here was because they made a deal with him, and behind every deal was a story.

“Oh!” said the master, as though suddenly remembering another task for her. “And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts.”

Horrified, the girl dropped the teacup she was holding.

Mama Bea nearly screamed. Chip might be in there! “Hunting for pelts” was a quip about _him_. And that clumsy amateur could have shattered him to pieces!

“I’m sorry,” said the girl hurriedly, picking up the cup. “It’s chipped. But you can hardly see it.” She held it up to show the master.

“Well, it’s just a cup,” he said dismissively.

“Ooh, that horrid beast!” thought Mama Bea. “He just loves making folk squirm.” She was so tense, the tea inside her couldn’t possibly cool.

“Serve me from that one,” he told her. “A little chip doesn’t bother _me_.”

“It’s Chip, for sure,” thought Mama Bea, keeping a close eye.

Between sips, the master continued his instructions. “That door leads to the rest of the rooms on this floor. In the first closet, you will find a broom, dustpan, and bucket. Sweep all the rooms and discard the dust into the bucket. When you’re done, leave the bucket outside the first locked room upstairs.”

“Yes, sir,” said the girl.

“She’s got manners at least,” observed Mama Bea. “Raised posh, but not haughty. I can work with that.”

“Two more things,” he went on. “First, you’ll notice I keep all my mirrors covered. Leave them that way. Do not remove the sheets, and never touch the mirrors.”

Mama Bea remembered that instruction from her first day, too. She’d always been careful about it. So what was he playing at by getting her to look at that mirror earlier? And what was she to make of what she saw?

“Finally, if you know what’s good for you, stay far from the cellar.”

He laughed ominously as he said it, which terrified the poor girl. She curtsied and left quickly. The minute she was gone, Mama Bea hoped she and Chip would get their bodies back, but no such luck. The master just made her slide across the table until she was sitting beside him.

“Well, well, Mrs. Potts. I find myself in an unusually forgiving mood this morning, and Chip will be the beneficiary.”

He waved his hand over the chipped teacup. Chip’s head emerged from the rim. No apparent damage from the fall, other than a chipped front tooth.

“Mama!” he cried, alarmed at seeing her as half a teapot. 

“My sweetest Chip!”

“Chip!” repeated the master. He burst into a peal of giggles. “Names always do reveal destiny, but usually not so literally.”

He laughed for a full minute. Mama Bea didn’t see what was so funny, but she stood at attention while waiting for him to stop. She gave Chip a meaningful nod to do the same. They managed as best they could in their teapot and teacup forms.

Quick as a wink, the master went back to business again. “So, young man, you’ve been here a while. The time has come for you to give an accounting for your actions. Let’s review. What crime landed you here?”

“Coming on your property without permission. And hunting your squirrels.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?”

Chip glanced over at his mother nervously. She nodded to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm.” The master put his hand on Chip’s head, and though he cried out at first, Mama Bea could see it was more from fear than pain. The master was simply separating his body from the teacup. When he was done, the chipped cup remained on the table, and standing on the floor was her normal-sized, freckle-faced, chipped-tooth little boy.

The master waved his hand over the table, and three objects appeared: Chip’s slingshot, the plate of licorice that had tempted him before breakfast, and a rolled-up scroll of parchment. That had to be their contract!

Chip did not catch onto what was about to happen, but Mama Bea understood. She was so anxious, tears of hot brown tea filled her eyes.

The master pushed the plate of licorice in front of Chip. “You want some, don’t you?”

Chip nodded timidly.

“But now that you’ve learned your lesson, you won’t take without permission. Correct?”

“Yessir.”

“Then I am going to make a deal with you. You may go home to your father and sisters. I will let you have your slingshot back. You may even take the licorice. But here is what you must do in return: tell all your friends what happens to children who trespass on the Dark One’s property. And no exaggerating about how brave you were. We both know you screamed your lungs out. Tell a lie after eating that licorice, and you’ll wind up right back here.”

Chip was too petrified to move. “What about Mama?” he whispered.

“Your Mama must stay here a little while longer. She should be home tomorrow morning.”

Chip looked over at her, not sure whether he could trust this promise. Mama Bea couldn’t blame him, but she wasn’t about to let him pass up what might be his only chance at freedom. “Go on, ducky. I told you I’d stay near you till you grow into a big, strong man, and I’ll probably stick around long after that.”

Chip stole one last furtive glance at the Dark One. Then he grabbed his slingshot and the licorice and broke into a swift run.

“Good boy!” Mama Bea called after him.

The master magicked the great doors open as Chip scampered away. When they slammed back shut, he said, “It appears we are in an unforeseen circumstance, Mrs. Potts. Our deal was that you could stay near your son as long as you worked for me. I never anticipated that I’d choose to free him before your work was done, and the fact is, I still have need of you.”

“So I’ll finish a day’s work and go home,” said Mama Bea. It seemed straightforward enough. “What must I do?”

“I need you to acclimate Belle to my castle. Help her get comfortable here.”

Mama Bea knew better than to say what she was thinking. _Nobody_ could get comfortable here. If that’s what the new deal depended on, she might never get home.

She phrased it as best as she could. “In one day?”

“The timing is not your concern.” He snapped his fingers. “Cogsworth!”

Mama Bea expected to see the officious butler come running, but instead, a clock appeared beside her on the table.

“He’s an object, too,” she realized. “Well, Chip and I couldn’t be the only ones.”

The master passed his hand over the clock and turned him half-human, just like she was. The numbers of the clock face remained, but Cogsworth’s soulful dark eyes blinked open, and he gained back his own nose, mouth, and ears – and even his glasses! His mechanical arms became flesh, but they stayed as small as his clock body.

“When Mrs. Potts has completed her task,” said the master, sending Cogsworth’s arms circling forward, “it will be a new day in her village.” His arms wound back.

“Very good, sir.”

Once the clock was set, the master waved his hand over it, and in a flash, he was back on the mantelpiece. All of Cogsworth’s human features disappeared. His face was back to expressionless numbers, and his mechanical arms ticked around them.

“So _that’s_ how he controls time,” thought Mama Bea. It was one of those things everybody talked about, but nobody understood. “Cor! I’ve just watched him do it, and I still don’t understand.”

“Questions, dearie?” he tittered.

“About a thousand,” she thought, but only one really mattered. “How long does my husband think Chip and I have been missing?”

“I doubt he even noticed you’re gone. He’s been in the field all morning, and your daughters are still in school.”

“But I’ve been here for weeks!”

“Time is relative,” he said, as though that explained everything. “But back to Belle. She’s come a long way from home, and she’s frightened of me.”

“Who isn’t?” thought Mama Bea. But when she considered it, she realized that she herself wasn’t. She didn’t like the master one bit, but she’d lived with him long enough to know that his bark was worse than his bite.

“I daresay you are well-suited to helping her. You two are quite similar. You came here for your son’s sake, and she is here on agreement that I protect her father’s kingdom. Both of you have sacrificed for the people you love, so you should understand each other.”

“Her father’s _kingdom_?” repeated Mama Bea. “She’s a princess?”

“Of a small kingdom, yes.”

Mama Bea was gobsmacked. She’d never met royalty before! “Should I curtsy to her? And call her ‘Your Majesty?’”

“No, no. That’s way too stiff and formal. Be her friend. Call her Belle.”

“The teapot who’s a friend of a princess,” mused Mama Bea. “What strange things happen here!” But to the master, she simply said, “I can do that.”

He nodded, and the scroll before him unrolled. “Amended Contract of Employment,” he said. A quill pen appeared out of thin air to take his dictation.

_“As Master Richard Potts has now been freed, Mrs. Beatrice Potts’ term of duties shall hereby be amended. Her service to Rumpelstiltskin shall be deemed complete_ _when Belle feels at home in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle._ _At that time, Mrs. Potts shall be allowed to return to her own home and family with due compensation._ ”

“Due compensation?” she thought, as her spout turned into a tiny arm. The master shrunk the quill so she could use it. “This is just like last time. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I’m afraid I’ll be worse off if I don’t sign.” Her arm turned back to china as soon as she finished.

At precisely the moment when he snapped the contract away, Belle returned. “The bucket is upstairs, as you told me,” she reported.

“Good. Then I can get a start on my own work. You may take a break. Serve yourself.”

And with that, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Belle looked as confused as Chip. Did he really mean it? Could she actually take a break?

“Sit down, love,” said Mama Bea. “Pour yourself some tea.”

Belle’s eyes darted around the room. “Who said that?”

“It’s me, the teapot. My name’s Beatrice, but everyone calls me Mama Bea. Come over this way and you’ll see my face.”

Belle walked over and looked. Then she sank into a chair. “I’ve seen a lot of peculiar things in this last day and a half. Somehow I’ll have to get used to being constantly surprised.”

“Well, we have each other. I’ll help you through. C’mon. The tea’s nice and hot, and I keep filling up.”

Belle poured the tea and drank. “Have you been here long?”

“I wish I knew. He plays tricks with time, so it’s impossible to say. He does it with that clock on the mantelpiece. His name’s Cogsworth. He’s a clock now, but sometimes he’s a butler. And after what I saw him do today, I’ll wager he used to be a wizard.”

Belle walked over to the mantelpiece and studied the clock. “Hello?” she said to it. Its only answer was a soft tick-tock.

“No sense talking to _him_ ,” said Mama Bea. “He never does say much, even when he’s human.”

Belle turned away from the clock and returned to the table. “Are there others here then?” she asked.

“I’ve only ever met the stable hand, and that was just once or twice. But until this morning, my son was in the teacup you chipped.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “What happened to him?”

“Nothing bad, love. He told the master he was sorry, and he was allowed to go home.”

“I’m glad that happens. . . for some people.”

“Well, it _is_ out of the ordinary. The master said so himself. He was in ‘an unusually forgiving mood.’”

Mama Bea would not tell the girl so, but she thought it was her pretty face that did the trick. “What _would_ the villagers say?” she thought to herself. Who would ever believe that the Dark One could fall in love?

“Help me!” cried a woman’s voice.

“It’s my broom!” said Belle, jumping out of her chair and running toward it.

“Turn me right-side-up. Ah, that’s it. I do hate it when my hair drags all over the floor.”

“I’m sorry. If I would have known you were a person, I would have been much more careful with you when I was sweeping. Oh, but are you a person, or are you a witch? Did he turn you into your own broomstick?”

“Got the measure of him already, I see. But no, I’m not a witch. I’m Brunhilde the Valkyrie.”

“From Norse myth?”

“Oh, Norse myth, horsewhip,” said Mama Bea. “Bring her over for a cuppa.”

Belle carried the broom over to the table and propped her up against a chair. Mama Bea thought she looked ridiculous, a broad-boned, blonde-haired woman with a broomstick for a body. Then she remembered that she must look just as silly - a teapot with a face.

Belle poured some tea into the chipped cup. When she lifted it to serve the armless Brunhilde, she almost dropped it a second time. Her own voice was speaking through the cup. “I’m sorry,” it said.

“Did you hear that?” asked Belle.

Mama Bea and Brunhilde spoke at the same time.

“Yes,” said Mama Bea.

“Hear what?” said Brunhilde.

“Let her drink from it and see what happens,” suggested Mama Bea.

Belle tipped the cup so that Brunhilde could take a sip. “Do you feel any different?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Brunhilde decidedly. “For the very first time, I have a glimmer of hope that I’ll be able to earn my way out of here. But I still have far to go.”

“Why _are_ you here?” asked Belle. “I made a deal to protect my father’s kingdom from ogres.”

“I came to look after my son after he was caught trespassing.”

Brunhilde sniffed. “So you’re both _that_ kind of heroine. Well, not me. Where I come from, there’s only one sacrifice that counts. Losing your life while fighting a war.”

“Wouldn’t you rather sacrifice for peace instead?” asked Belle.

“Or make the life of someone you love a little better?” added Mama Bea.

“I’m a warrior goddess. It’s not in my nature to feel love, and I see no glory in peace. It will take a lot to get me to change. Give me another sip from that cup.”

“I’m sorry,” said the cup when Belle touched it.

“Did you hear it that time?” Belle asked.

“No, not at all,” said Brunhilde, swallowing. “But that makes no difference. I’m getting your magic, and that’s all I need.”

“It’s not _my_ magic,” said Belle. “It’s his.”

“Oh, it’s yours all right.”

“No, it isn’t! I’ve never cast a spell in my life!”

“That’s a fairy-blessed crystal you’ve got around your neck, isn’t it?”

Belle’s hand went self-consciously to the crystal. “Yes, but I got it for studying fairy language, not magic.”

“And I suppose you think that just anyone can learn fairy language?”

Belle went silent.

“Hah!” cried Brunhilde triumphantly. “No wonder he’s put in so much effort for you. He nabbed one from the fairy ranks!”

Belle was ruffled, but she tried to be polite about it. “I’m sorry, Brunhilde, but you’re quite mistaken. I don’t have magic, and I’m paying for Rumpelstiltskin’s services. I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

“Shows how much you know,” snorted Brunhilde.

“My, she’s a surly one!” thought Mama Bea. “I’m going to have to keep her from upsetting Belle.”

“So you two are my new legion, eh?” Brunhilde continued, her jaw stiffening. “A pair of warm, sweet, maternal types. It’s just like him to have a joke at every turn.”

Now Mama Bea was ruffled. “He _does_ make a joke at every turn,” she agreed, “but there’s nothing wrong with being warm and sweet. It sure beats being cold and mean.”

“I am _not_ cold and mean, if that’s what you’re implying,” said Brunhilde, her yellow hair hardening into straw. “I am a Valkyrie, strong and proud.”

“I wouldn’t be so proud if _I_ were a broomstick,” thought Mama Bea, but she held her tongue. Literally, that would be the teapot calling the kettle black.

“You’re turning back into a broom again,” said Belle. 

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” said Brunhilde. “I can feel it.”

“Really?” said Mama Bea. She never felt a thing when she turned. It was like instant sleep. But Brunhilde was magical, so perhaps that made a difference. Then it struck Mama Bea. Surly or not, Brunhilde was in a unique position to answer her questions. Cogsworth never would.

“You have magic powers, right?”

“ _Divine_ powers,” corrected Brunhilde.

“All right, divine powers. Can you explain what makes us turn?”

Brunhilde shook her head. “His powers are difficult to understand. He makes everything so deliberately complicated! But it comes down to two things. First: _her_.” She lifted her chin so that it pointed to Belle.

“I told you, I’m not mag –“ Belle began.

“Hush, love,” Mama Bea interrupted. “And what’s the other thing?”

“Following your contract. He’s a real stickler for those.”

“My contract is practically impossible!” sighed Mama Bea.

“Everyone’s is,” said Brunhilde, her features fast fading into straw. “See? I’m proving it. Risked my own flesh just to explain things to you two.” She moaned in pain. “Oh, great goddess Eir, please heal me!” 

The prayer didn’t seem to work. Brunhilde kept moaning until she was all broom again.

It was a dreadful thing to witness. Mama Bea and Belle sat in somber silence for a moment until Belle asked, “Does it hurt you when you. . .turn?”

“Never. I just go numb, and the whole world disappears.” She hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She’d rather be her real self than a teapot, but at least it wasn’t painful. “You’d better put Brunhilde back in the closet where you found her,” she told Belle.

“I don’t think I can bear to. It’s so dark and stuffy in there.”

“She can’t feel anything while she’s a broomstick. Trust me. I know.”

Belle picked up the broomstick and put her away.

“Good girl,” said Mama Bea. “We’ll make a proper maid of you yet!”

“Believe it or not, that sounds good to me,” said Belle. “With you to keep me company and work to keep me busy, perhaps it won’t be so terrible here after all.”

“A naturally cheerful spirit,” thought Mama Bea. “I may stand a chance of getting home soon.”

“I still think Brunhilde was wrong, though. I’m not magical.”

Mama Bea was no expert, but she was inclined to side with Brunhilde. There must be some reason that she woke up to Belle’s touch this morning. And for the master to suddenly find it within himself to free Chip. Something more than Belle’s pretty face.

“Why don’t you try drinking from the cup? Just to see what happens.”

Belle shrugged and took a sip. “I’m sorry,” said the cup as Belle placed it back in its saucer.

“Well?” Mama Bea asked eagerly.

“Well, other than that I’m talking to a teapot, after having met my broom, who’s really a Valkyrie, I feel exactly the same. It’s gloomy here, and I miss home. But it _is_ a relief to have you around.”

“I’m happy to be of service, love.” Instinctively, she reached out her handle and squeezed Belle’s hand.

“I can _move_!” she exclaimed. She tried her spout. That worked, too! “Two arms!” she cried, waving them around. “Perhaps I’m turning human again!” And though she didn’t say it to Belle, she decided Brunhilde was right. It was Belle’s magic, not the master’s.

But the next instant threw her back into doubt. The master popped back into the room.

“All right, you two! Break’s over.” 

Belle sprung out of her chair as though she’d just been caught doing something wrong. The master smirked and tossed her his apron. Then he clapped loudly, and Mama Bea was full-bodied and standing on the floor beside Belle. They looked at one another and smiled.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” said Mama Bea fearlessly. She wasn’t just showing the master how well she was complying with his orders. She genuinely meant it.

“I _said_ break’s over,” he growled. “Take Belle down to the clothesline. Teach her how to do laundry.”

  



	9. A Little Expedition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the benefit of those who've never seen the show, I've put links to the original scenes within the text. Please let me know if the presentation is clear. To those who are already fans of the show, my interpretation is different than most people's, but I think I'm right. Rumpelstiltskin knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Rumpelstiltskin resisted the urge to go invisible and plant himself in the Great Hall through Belle’s break. He was content just sitting upstairs in his brewing room, listening as she chatted with Mrs. Potts. Even Brunhilde joined them for a bit. But once his maids were outdoors, he was determined to watch them. He’d cast a spell of Thought Transfer on his apron before tossing it to Belle. Contact with any liquid would trigger the enchantment. If everything went according to plan, Belle and Mrs. Potts would either wash or hang the apron together, and then Belle would see whatever Mrs. Potts saw in the Mirror of Souls. He snapped himself outdoors, perched himself on the branch of a tree, and waited eagerly.

“The fire’s always lit, so you never have to worry about that,” Mrs. Potts was telling Belle. “And the washbasins fill and empty by magic. You’d think with everything he can do, he wouldn’t bother keeping servants.”

He snapped his fingers, and a pile of laundry appeared between them.

“Oh, that reminds me!” cried Mrs. Potts. “I should have warned you before. He eavesdrops on our conversations.”

Belle looked around in every direction but up. “Do you suppose he’s listening right now?”

“If he is, we won’t see him. But that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Cogsworth says we should assume that he can hear _everything._ Personally, I think that’s going too far. He can’t be listening every minute. Sometimes he’s spinning, and sometimes he’s brewing, and sometimes he goes away. Cogsworth’s very careful, though. Every time he speaks, he keeps it short and to the point. Impossible for me. I couldn’t very well button my lip all day long with my son running around, could I?”

“I’ll rather miss that boy’s chatter,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. Chip wasn’t Bae, but the sound of a child’s voice sometimes soothed him.

“Perhaps he’s lonely,” said Belle.

Rumpelstiltskin’s dark heart melted a little. “More than you know,” he whispered.

“You may just be right about that, love,” said Mrs. Potts. “Listening to other people’s conversations is probably the closest human contact he can hope for.”

Belle gasped. “You just said he can hear us. Aren’t you afraid?”

Mrs. Potts shook her head. “He doesn’t punish for insults. He just laughs ‘em off. Chances are, he agrees. I don’t think he likes himself any more than anyone else does. But lying and stealing? That’ll get his goat.”

“A woman sharp of mind,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. Mrs. Potts was finishing off her increment of the prophecy quite admirably.

Belle dunked his brewing apron into the washbasin and began to scrub.

“So you _do_ know how to do laundry!” said Mrs. Potts. “I didn’t expect that from a princess!”

“I’m not so high and mighty. My kingdom is really quite small. And my mother made sure I learned to do ordinary housework as part of my education. She didn’t want me feeling like I was above the maids.”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. It was just like Colette to find ways to keep her daughter humble. “Of course,” he thought, “she probably also foresaw that Maurice would mismanage somehow. She wanted Belle prepared.”

Mrs. Potts clucked approvingly. “You’ll be easy to train then.”

“Your deal doesn’t depend on her cleaning abilities, Mrs. Potts,” said Rumpelstiltskin quietly. “Just keep lifting her spirits. And please don’t tell her your release depends on it. I don’t want her pressured.”

The “please” worked, as it always did with Mrs. Potts. She stayed quiet and helped Belle wring out the apron. As soon as each of them had a hand on it, Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward. This was the moment he’d been waiting for.

Staring at each other, the two maids hung it on the clothesline.

“Attentive,” he thought. Most people didn’t notice when they were under the effect of this spell. They just took for granted that whatever thoughts passed through their minds originated with them and could not be shared.

Belle spoke first. “Did you just see Rumpelstiltskin?”

“I wasn’t sure it was him.”

“It had to be. He wasn’t always. . . like he is now. He was a man once. I read about him in a history book.”

Mrs. Potts shrugged. She picked up a shirt from the laundry pile and began scrubbing it. Belle picked up another one and copied her. “Well, I can’t say I’m much of a reader, and history puts me right to sleep, but I _have_ seen that face before, and I can tell you exactly when and where. It was just this morning. The master gave me a magic mirror to bring to Cogsworth. That was unusual in itself. I don’t often handle magical objects.”

“You might have been handling them all along without knowing it.”

“Well, that’s true, I s’pose, but this time, he wanted me to know it. Remember how he insists on keeping the mirrors covered all the time? I got a peek under the cover of this one, and that couldn’t have been an accident. And right there, looking back at me, was that face. _His_ face. But he was just sitting there at the table, same as always – green, scaly, ‘n all.”

“It was the Mirror of Souls!” exclaimed Belle. “That means it’s real. The mirror always shows the truth!”

“Not exactly,” murmured Rumpelstiltskin. “It shows the truth to anyone whose vision is clear enough to perceive it. And you two just passed the test.”

He could have soared around the castle, but he controlled himself. So far, he’d established that the old spinner of the past was still his essence, however deeply he might be buried. What’s more, Belle still believed in him, even after the cursed monster forced her to spend the night in a dungeon. But could she reconcile his two sides? He certainly hadn’t done a good job of it.

“It’s time to move on to a bigger test,” he thought. “But what?”

No sooner did he think it than an arrow whizzed through the air. Neither Belle nor Mrs. Potts took notice. They were too busy with the washing.

“If he has the Mirror, then my other things must be here, too,” said Belle. “I sent along a dress that’s much more practical than this one. I wonder if he’ll let me have it.”

“You need it, that’s for sure.”

The next arrow lodged itself in one of the trees holding up the clothesline.

“Oh, Chip,” moaned Mrs. Potts. “Don’t start up again. You were just set free!”

“Chip shoots arrows?” asked Belle.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

“So go find him and send him home! I’ll finish up here.”

Mrs. Potts dried her hands and gave Belle a peck on the cheek, “Thank you, love. You’re a life saver.” She headed off in the direction the arrow had just come from.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. What a wild goose chase this was going to be! As though eight-year-old Chip could suddenly acquire the skill of a master archer! Nobody in the realm had such true aim as the owner of those arrows.

“And whatever you’ve come here for, Robin Hood, you’d better be prepared to pay an elaborate price.”

He transported himself back to the castle.

Robin walked in looking more alarmed than Rumpelstiltskin had ever seen him. “A witch has hexed Marian!” he cried. “I need magic.”

Rumpelstiltskin could undo the work of any witch in the realm, but some were more challenging than others. It was well known that Robin and his band were part of the resistance against Regina. “Was it the Evil Queen?” he asked.

“No, we’ve managed to steer clear of _her_. But you know that gingerbread house?”

“You let your wife eat from _that?_ Are you mad?”

“She was hungry,” Robin mumbled, as though that were a reasonable excuse.

Rumpelstiltskin scowled. “As little regard as you have for the concept of ownership, I would have thought you’d at least show some caution around Candace. Don’t you know her reputation?”

“Springing Marian from her trap was easy.”

“Of course, it was. Candace is blind, and you’re Robin Hood. But she learned from me. Any escape sets off a worse curse. How is Marian?”

“I’m afraid she may be dying.” Robin’s eyes welled with tears.

“Where is she now?”

“With Friar Tuck.”

“I see.” Rumpelstiltskin held out his hand, and the Wand of Healing appeared in it. “This wand can cure all magical ailments, but I’m not letting it out of my possession unless you leave me some equally valuable collateral. I’ll take your bow. The charm was mine originally anyway.”

Without flinching, Robin offered it. “Anything to save her. She’s the light of my life.”

Rumpelstiltskin did not take the bow. Not yet. “That’s just the collateral,” he told Robin. “I still haven’t named my price. If you want your light back, you’ll help me earn mine. I’ll freeze time for Marian. She won’t get any worse till you reach her with the wand. But meanwhile, I need you to break into my castle tonight. Do what you do best. I’ll have to capture you, even draw blood, but–”

“But it’s all part of some scheme to impress the young lady I saw outside. Believe me, mate, I understand.”

It was just like Robin Hood to reduce everything to romance. “You understand nothing,” snapped Rumpelstiltskin. “And we are not mates.”

“Have it your way,” said Robin Hood. “I still agree to your terms.” He extended his hand.

Rumpelstiltskin shook it. “Make your move when it’s dark.”

“I usually do.”

Robin left to hide in wait in the woods. Rumpelstiltskin waved Mrs. Potts back into the castle. She was panting so hard, she must have covered every inch of his grounds. But she didn’t mention Chip, so he didn’t either.

“Thank you for your work with Belle, today,” he said. Unused to receiving a “thank you” from him, he thought she might topple over. But before she could say a word, he turned her back into a teapot.

“Cogsworth!” he called, as the clock floated to the table. “Freeze time in Friar Tuck’s house until Robin Hood returns to Sherwood Forest with the Wand of Healing.” The Clock’s hands wound forward and back. “And when Belle is done with my laundry, it shall be dusk here.”

That would be enough time for her to eat her own dinner and serve his. Then it was back to her dungeon cell, and the next test would begin.

Everything went according to plan. Belle was unfazed by the time changes and served his dinner without breaking a single dish. But once she was back in the dungeon, she was crying for home all over again. And not just home this time. She was worried about Mrs. Potts and Chip. She didn’t know that Chip was alive and well back in the village. Nor did she know what happened to Mrs. Potts. Their first day of friendship could easily be their last.

“How much more of this can I take?” grumbled Rumpelstiltskin. Her tears were weakening his Dark Side before they’d even started the test. He had to put a stop to it somehow. No head starts.

He walked [into her cell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XxgLfpeke0) without knocking. “When you so eagerly agreed to work for me,” he began, “I didn’t think you’d miss your family quite s’much.”

She rose to her feet. “I made my sacrifice for them. Of course, I miss them. . . you beast!”

He almost laughed. She believed Mrs. Potts. She wasn’t afraid to insult him!

“Yes, yes, of course, but the crying _must_ stop. I mean, night after night! It’s making it very hard for me to spin! I do my best thinking then.”

She looked at him, confused. Well, how could she know what his spinning really achieved? He didn’t always understand it himself.

A sudden idea hit him. He knew just what to do with all the lace he’d been spinning. He shaped it into a pillow and gave it to her. Threw it at her really, but rudeness suited the Dark One.

“Thank you,” she said, like a prodded child remembering her manners. He didn’t let on, but the charm of her “thank you” was every bit as effective as her “I’m sorry.”

“Hurry it up, Robin,” he thought. “I need to get good and angry for this to work properly.”

Robin Hood crashed through while they were busy squabbling. Rumpelstiltskin rushed out to the Great Hall, and Belle followed. She watched the whole charade. The ragged thief kept him on his toes - shooting arrows at him, making him disappear here and reappear there. Robin seemed to be enjoying the sport of it.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed one arrow to land right in his chest. He left it there a moment, just long enough to see Belle come running toward him, but then he pulled it out and healed the wound in an instant.

“All magic comes with a price,” he said, grabbing Robin’s arm. “And in your case, that’s me.”

He threw Robin into a cell within earshot of Belle’s. For tonight, though, he would do no more. He let the magic of the pillow do its work. Just as he told her, it absorbed her cries. And because she had asked, it gave her a good night’s sleep, too.

She wasn’t as prompt with his tea the next morning, and if Brunhilde was any indication, he could guess why. Though still a broom, she’d inched away from the wall and was standing upright of her own accord. Belle wasn’t just beginning to accept her power. She was using it. She must have woken Mrs. Potts deliberately. He sent his mind into the kitchen to listen.

“The arrow wasn’t Chip’s! A robber broke in last night!”

“I know. I saw him sneaking around the woods. It’s the last thing I remember.”

Belle lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m going to help him escape the first chance I get.”

“Don’t! You’ll be punished!”

Then Belle said something that boosted Rumpelstiltskin’s hopes like a catapult. “Maybe not. You saw his face in the mirror. At bottom, he’s a man of peace. So can you help me?”

“Like this? The most I can do is keep tea warm.”

“And that’s all you will do,” said Rumpelstiltskin, turning both her and Brunhilde lifeless again. “This test is for Belle alone.”

Belle served his tea in the chipped cup, even though he didn’t ask for it. It delighted him so much, he giggled. Gone was the timid dropper of teacups. It was her talisman now, and she was using it purposefully.

“A fair move,” he thought, taking a tiny sip, but not too much. The darkest task was still ahead, and if the test was to be real, this part absolutely had to be.

“Now to deal with our prisoner,” he announced. He went into Robin’s cell, levitated him, and clamped his wrists in chains.

“Your blood won’t go to waste,” he said, drawing his dagger. “There’s a healer in another realm – a doctor, he calls himself – who’ll want to experiment with it. You’re paying for Marian’s healing with more healing.”

“Just get on with it.” 

Rumpelstiltskin summoned his Dark Side, so rooted within him it was effortless. “All magic comes with a price!” he cackled. Then he slashed Robin across his chest. Blood spattered everywhere.

“When she comes to help you escape,” he said over Robin’s screams, “offer to take her with you.”

Then he went out to Belle. She was [sweeping the floor](<a%20href=) in such a fury, Brunhilde was lucky she was only a broom.

“I’m going to need another apron,” he told her.

She was ready with an excuse. “They’re on the line, drying. It’ll be some time.”

“Oh, fine, fine. Get to cleaning this one as well.” He threw it onto the table. Then he told her he was leaving. Leaving her an opening, to be precise.

As predictable as he thought this scenario was, Belle actually found a way to surprise him. She quarreled with him first.

“All this because he tried to steal a magic wand?”

“No. Because he tried to steal from _me_ , the Dark One. Do that, and you get skinned alive. Everyone knows that.”

“No, actually, they don’t.”

She had no idea how much she was throwing him off. Nobody ever fought the Dark One with mere words! But it was working! He had to get out of there and let her finish with Robin. He’d fulfilled his end of the deal. It was time he got what he came for.

Always meticulous about keeping to his words, Rumpelstiltskin left the castle, but only for a second. He popped over to Friar Tuck’s, saw him praying over the ashen-faced Marian, and then popped back. Belle was already in Robin’s cell. He placed the wand where Robin couldn’t miss it, and then disappeared into the tower and waited.

When he “returned,” he made a big show of [sharpening his knife.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnmnTphZJjU&t=4s) “I’ll try not to be too loud,” he said. “But I can’t promise the same courtesy from our prisoner.”

Then he went to the cell, found it as empty as he expected, and stormed back into the Great Hall to confront Belle.

She was putting on a show of her own. She was pretending to be taking her break and reading, but the book was one he’d deliberately left around for her, _The_ _Orygynale Chronicle._ It was only fitting that she should learn the authentic history of Robin and his Merry Men.

“Belle!” he shouted. “Where is he?”

She answered him with the plain, unvarnished truth. “Gone,” she admitted. “I let him go.”

“What? He was a thief!”

“Which doesn’t give you the right to kill him.”

“It gives me every right!” he said, letting the Darkness fill him. Then he began laying it on thick. “Oh, let me guess. You think he’s a hero, stealing from me for some noble cause. You read too many books, dearie!”

He made the _Chronicle_ disappear right out of her lap. Then, pointing out that the wand was “missing,” he dismissed her intelligence further. “You were tricked! You foolish, gullible girl!”

He knew she’d heard that sort of thing from plenty of people, including her own father. But even now, she was proving to be the opposite of foolish and gullible. The whole world feared the Dark One, yet here she stood, brave enough to ignore his reputation and argue with him. She was even attempting to appeal to his well-concealed good side. And all because she trusted in a history book over common rumor.

“You can’t know what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them,” she said.

“Oh, we’ll find out what’s in his heart, all right, when I shoot arrows through it.” He brought out Robin’s bow. “And because this is your fault, you get to come with me and watch! And as the blood drips from his carcass, it’ll be you and your rags to wipe it up!”

He snapped his fingers and dressed her in cloak and gloves. He clapped, and a horse-drawn carriage was waiting for them at the door. He did not bother to reanimate the stable hand. The horses obeyed his magic. They needed no driver. Other than that, [the carriage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Ac_QGEaUTQ&t=85s) was a mode of travel she was already used to.

They got in and began the hunt. She argued with him the whole way. “I think you are not as dark as you want people to believe,” she insisted. “I think that deep down, there’s love in your heart. And for something more than power.”

“Tell me more, woman of clear vision,” he thought. But aloud, he said, “You’re right. There is something I love.” He paused for effect. “My things!”

That got her! She had already met her broom and teapot. She must sense that any one of his “things” could be much more than it appeared.

She frowned in disgust. “You really are as dark as people say.”

“Darker, dearie. Much Darker.”

He stopped the horses, and they got out of the wagon. The Sheriff of Nottingham came riding up. Rumpelstiltskin went through the pretense of seeking information he already knew. Unfortunately, the Sheriff was a crude-minded, foul-mouthed cretin. He wasn’t going to divulge anything for free. He wanted a deal, and he named his price. 

“A night with your wench.”

Rumpelstiltskin fumed. His _wench_? How dare ANYONE speak that way of Belle? She was a lady through and through!

This man needed a lesson in watching his language. So Rumpelstiltskin had a spot of fun bouncing his tongue around.

It didn’t take long to make the point. The moment he got his tongue back, the Sheriff was only too willing to tell over everything he knew about Robin Hood. And with that, they left, continuing their “search” [on foot.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swcRUPpEkW4) Belle was soon at it again, trying everything she could think of to persuade him to turn back. 

“I am not going to stand here and watch while you kill a man!”

“Well, you’re welcome to sit if you like, but you _are_ going to watch! That’s the whole point of our little expedition, remember? To see what your actions wrought.”

Whatever would be wrought from the act of freeing Robin Hood should indeed be something worth seeing.

They spotted Robin just when Marian, lying in the back of a wagon, was driven up to him. Rumpelstiltskin took aim. Belle pulled his arm back. He did not stop her. He even smiled, he was so pleased with her, but she was too caught up in watching Robin and Marian to notice. She rejoiced when Robin waved the wand over Marian and healed her.

“You see? I’m right about him! He only wanted the wand to heal the woman he loves.”

“But he’s still a thief,” Rumpelstiltskin persisted, letting his punitive side grow strong. “He has to die.”

They quarreled some more. Her interference was working, but it was getting out of control, and this was the most decisive moment. He trapped her in the earth just to get her to keep still. “There!” he shouted. “That should give you a good view.”

It had better. He was counting on her for it.

Even while stuck in the ground, she did not stop arguing. If anything, she was getting more heated with each second. But when Marian stood up, that changed everything.

“Look! She’s pregnant!” cried Belle.

He lowered the bow and arrow. No wonder Candace’s curse affected Marian so badly! How could Robin leave out the most salient detail?

“Because Rumpelstiltskin steals babies,” he realized. “You made him pay with his blood. He was afraid you’d ask for his firstborn.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s self-loathing began overtaking him, but then Belle’s voice came from behind, speaking to the side he so desperately needed her to amplify. “You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless!”

“Indeed I’m not,” he thought. “A parent’s duties are more essential than anyone’s. Worth abandoning a war for. Even worth enduring a life of ridicule.”

The pang of the painful memories nearly leveled him. He should have known it would be like this. Peeling back his Dark Power meant facing all the hurt that fueled it. He thought of Milah, saying Bae would have been better off with a dead but brave father, instead of his living and doting one. Then came the memory of his own father and their chaotic life together, ending in abandonment. But his mother was the worst of all. She abandoned him in infancy.

None of this would ever go away. But perhaps now, with the peace broker of Avonlea by his side, he could face it better.

He lifted the bow and arrow and took aim again. “NO!” screamed Belle.

The warning shot landed right on the wagon. Just in time to send Robin, Marian, and their unborn child back to a place of safety.

“What happened?” asked Belle.

He affected frustration. “I missed.” Without a backward glance, he released Belle from her earthen trap.

“That bow has magic in it,” said the wise and skeptical young lady. “It never misses its target.”

“Well, perhaps the magic wore off,” he said, turning around. She was standing intoxicatingly close.

“You spared his life!”

“What? I did nothing of the sort!”

But of course, that was exactly what he had done, and she knew what she saw.

“We passed!” he thought. He wished he could shout it out for the whole forest to hear. How much more might they accomplish? He’d let her take on even more next time. _Real_ Darkness, not just a test run.

But just when he thought the day could not possibly have gone any better, she did something he would never have even dared to dream. She embraced him! She had to stand on tiptoe to do it, but that only made it all the sweeter. He was completely bowled over. If only he had prepared! He would have set Cogsworth in advance. “When Belle hugs me, stretch all of time so it lasts forever.” As things were, he only got a few seconds to taste Heaven.

But they did have their ride home, and he intended to savor it. He slowed the horses down to a trot and sent them on a long, circuitous route. He made the _Orygynale Chronicle_ reappear in her lap, just to show that he didn’t mean it when he said she read too many books.

“A library,” he thought. It was the perfect reward for her. A reward and a tool.

She read for the rest of the ride, taking small breaks to look at the passing scenery. But all the while, his mind was replaying that precious moment when her arms were around his neck and her head was pressed against his cheek. For every drop of happiness she gave him, he added a new book to the library. He saw no reason he should ever stop.


	10. Belle's Legion

The only trouble about [receiving her library](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozmqzzjk4f8) so late at night was that Belle was too tired to really explore it. But when she spotted her very own copy of _Her Handsome Hero_ on the center table, she knew that no matter what Rumpelstiltskin said, the library was not merely another room for her to clean.

“Did you do all this for me?” she asked.

“I’d better not see a single speck of dust on any of these books,” was his answer.

She smiled. After everything that had just happened in Sherwood Forest, who did he think he was fooling?

“What are you smiling at?” he demanded. “I’m serious.”

She reached out for his hand. “You’re not who I thought you were,” she said, “and I’m glad.”

His eyes shone with happiness. He seemed utterly unused to it.

He swiftly went back to giving her “orders.” Gesturing to a door near the last set of bookshelves, he said, “You might as well sleep there tonight. That’ll give you an early start on the dusting.”

On this night full of surprises, Belle could hardly wait to see what was behind the door. She walked over and opened it.

“Oh my!” she gasped.

It was a bedroom. Smaller and simpler than her suite back home, but it had everything she needed. A proper bed and bath. A wardrobe where Gabrielle’s blue dress was hanging, along with five exact copies of it, one for every work day. A fresh white nightgown and bathrobe laid out on the bed.

She stepped into the room. Rumpelstiltskin remained at the doorway. He would not even allow the tips of his boots to cross over the threshold.

“He’s a true gentleman to respect my privacy this way,” she noted. And to think – the Sheriff of Nottingham had called her “his wench.” It was an insult to both of them! Then she giggled in spite of herself. Well, Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t really _hurt_ the Sheriff. He just taught him a lesson about guarding his tongue.

“Good night, Belle,” came a whisper from the door. Rumpelstiltskin was speaking so softly, it felt like his words were more in her mind than in his voice. He made a horizontal motion with his hand, and the door closed between them.

“Wait!” she cried. She still had more to say. She’d only thanked him for the library, not the bedroom. But when she tried opening the door, it would not budge. It was as heavy as the iron door of her dungeon cell. Only now that she was beginning to understand the indirect ways he did everything, she saw this spell in a wholly new light.

“He’s not locking me in. He’s locking himself out,” she realized. “A gentleman through and through.“

Her bathtub filled with water. She undressed and got in.

“So much gets packed into a single day here,” she mused. “I hope tomorrow will be quieter. The faster I get my work done, the more time I’ll have in the library.” She hoped she wouldn’t sleep late by mistake. She was exhausted after all that traipsing around.

But despite not getting to sleep until midnight, Belle was up before sunrise the next day, somehow feeling fully rested. The spell on the door had lifted, and she opened it easily. Because it was still dark outside, a candelabra on the table in the library lit itself up for her. She picked it up, and padding around barefoot, began browsing the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves.

It seemed the entire contents of her library at home were duplicated here. So was the Villeneuves’ collection. But most exciting of all were the books she’d never seen or heard of before, which was the vast majority.

One shelf was dedicated to the works of Jefferson Hatter, described as “realm jumper, magical importer, and travel writer.” His titles included places she’d always dreamed of visiting, like Oz and Wonderland. There were also a few books about places she never even knew existed, like the Land Without Color. The book about it contained the most realistic pictures Belle had ever seen, except they were all grey and white.

Beyond Mr. Hatter’s shelf was an enormous section devoted to “The Land Without Magic.” Whoever heard of such a place? How did people live without magic? But while the titles were all written in English, the words were put together in such strange combinations, they might as well have been in a foreign language. _Democracy in America_ by Alexis de Tocqueville. _The Interpretation of Dreams_ by Sigmund Freud. _Relativity: The Special and General Theory_ by Albert Einstein _._

The other thing that stood out to her about these shelves was that there were a great many women authors there. Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Marian Evans Lewes, Emily Dickinson, Joanne Rowling. She’d never heard of any of them, but before she could choose one at random, one book disappeared from the shelves and popped onto the table where _Her Handsome Hero_ was lying. She walked over and picked it up. It was entitled _Jane Eyre,_ and within a few paragraphs, Belle found herself completely charmed by the child heroine, who was describing her own love of books.

“I must save this for later,” she told herself. “Duty comes first.” She brought the book back to her room and lay it by her bedside. She put on one of her blue dresses and went to the kitchen to have her own breakfast and prepare Rumpelstiltskin’s.

“I approve of the new uniform,” Mama Bea told her in her half-human, half-teapot state.

Belle arranged the cups around Mama Bea. “You should see my new library!” she exclaimed, but when she began describing it, Mama Bea went right back to sleep. Belle tapped her handle to wake her, but it didn’t work.

“Well, she did say she wasn’t much of a reader,” Belle recalled. She carried the tea tray out to Rumpelstiltskin.

Sitting at the head of the table, he was absorbed in a book of his own. She peered over his shoulder as she poured his tea. The page he was looking at made even less sense to her than the titles on the unmagical shelves. Instead of words and sentences, it was full of letters and numbers.

“Chemical equations,” he told her. “The basis of potion-brewing in the unmagical realms.”

Belle was impressed. Rumpelstiltskin was an even greater scholar than Prosper Villeneuve! She stood to learn a tremendous amount from him, and she was starting to believe he intended it that way. Though parts of the library were tailor-made to suit her tastes, perhaps what he really meant was for them to share it.

“I never realized there were realms without magic,” she ventured. “Have you been to them?”

He looked up from his book. “I’ve been to the Land Without Color. But the Land Without Magic is. . .” His voice cracked slightly. “Let’s just say it’s hard to get there from here. But I’m researching it as best I can.”

“And so will I,” thought Belle. Travel and reading – her two favorite things! Now she understood the purpose of that section. Perhaps he would even take her there someday.

“If that Land is so hard to reach, how did all those books get here?”

“They’re imports,” he answered. “They pass from that Land to a bookshop in another realm, where my importer maintains an open account for me."

"That must be some bookshop!" thought Belle. She was about to ask if his importer was none other than author Jefferson Hatter, but apparently, he had something else to tell her. He signaled her closer, as though there was something important to show her in his book. Pointing to the letters “Ag,” he said, “That’s means silver.” He clapped, and box of silverware appeared on the table. “And so does that. Polish it after you’ve finished the laundry, won’t you? I’ll be back later.”

“Oh!” she said, taken aback at the sudden mood shift. “Where are you going?”

He sneered as though it was a presumption for her to ask. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He stood up, and with a grand flourish, disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“It’s terribly rude to just up and vanish like that!” Belle shouted into the air.

Was this how he was always going to behave? They’d start becoming friends and then he’d pull back and disappear?

She sighed. “Might as well start work.”

She cleared away the tea set and went out to the clothesline. Everything she’d hung with Mama Bea was now dry. She took it down and folded it neatly into a basket. Then she got started on the new washing. Her own gold ballgown was on top of the pile. She picked it up and inspected it, noting a few rips along the hem.

“Well, what did I expect?” she thought, plunging it into the water. She’d done her chores in it, slept in it for two nights in a row, and hiked through the forest in it. It felt like a whole lifetime had passed, both for herself and for the gown.

She scrubbed and hung a few more items on the pile, but soon she was longing for Mama Bea. She’d even settle for Brunhilde. It was so dull washing laundry alone!

“Duty comes first,” she told herself, thinking of Stealthy. Then she remembered something she’d once read about dwarves. They whistled while they worked. She tried it, but singing came more naturally, so she switched to an old childhood favorite:

_Come heed the call of Gideon,_

_the hero of the realm._

_And if his rules you’ll follow,_

_then you may take the helm._

_You need not be a fighter,_

_who’s skilled with sword and shield._

_For it takes something mightier_

_to scale this battlefield._

_The inner world of conscience_

_is where the battle’s fought._

_If you can conquer anger,_

_a triumph you’ll have wrought._

_So fill your heart with kindness._

_Then show it to your friends._

_And strive to be your finest._

_The whole world you will cleanse._

She sang and worked until the washing was done, and then carried the basket of dry clothes back to the castle. The box of silverware was waiting for her. Polishing turned out to be more enjoyable than washing laundry. There was something satisfying about restoring a tarnished spot of black to its original gleam.

[Rumpelstiltskin returned](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1OdUfHLWAM&list=PLRFvqxF8Lx4RkFDeuFSnCa2r3VF7LHCUC&index=127&t=0s) as she was putting final touches on the last piece. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was carrying a basket like hers, but she didn’t pay attention to what was inside until he slid it across the table at her.

“A baby!” she cried. “Where did it come from? Where are its parents?”

“Never mind. The child is mine now.”

“Yours?” she asked, as the horrible truth dawned on her. “You _stole_ him?”

“Ye-es,” he said, with a sinister note in his voice. “Scandalous, isn’t it?”

He kept his back to her as he spoke. He was rooting through his enchantment scrolls. The baby started fussing, so Belle picked him up and rocked him. 

“What kind of beast steals a child from its parents?” she scolded. She’d heard stories of him stealing babies, but she never really believed them. Besides, she’d gotten the monster to shed his skin just yesterday. Had a worse one grown over in its place?

“What happened to you that made you like _this_?” she asked.

“You’d do best to stop asking so many questions.” He found the scroll he was searching for. “Ahh, there it is! I have work to do. I’m not to be disturbed.”

Still rocking the baby, her blood boiled. The torture of Robin Hood was bad enough, but this! This was a helpless, innocent child!

And then she understood. The baby’s innocence was exactly what he was after. Innocence was used to power all sorts of diabolical spells. She could not let this stand. “What do you plan on doing with this child?”

He did not answer. “I shall be back at sundown,” he told her. “Take care of the baby, but don’t think about trying to hide him.” He brandished the scroll in her face as though it were a weapon. “I’ll find out.” And then, without another word, he walked out.

This time, Belle was glad to see him go. She now had a few hours to figure out how to protect the baby, even if she didn’t know exactly what she was protecting him from.

But first, she had to get him quiet. She [read to him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0SgohcIQ4w%20target=) from _Her Handsome Hero_. He was an alert little lad. He stayed awake for quite a few stories. When he eventually fell asleep, she carried the basket into the library to put the book away.

The candelabra that lit her way in the morning flickered to life again, though there was plenty of sunshine coming through the windows. She didn't need the extra light. That gave her a clue. "Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked the candelabra.

Its flames began dancing. When they settled, they were all pointing in the direction of one shelf.

“A secret door!” she exclaimed. “We have one of those in our library, too.”

She knew how these things worked. There was always some hint of how to activate it if you took the time to look. She scanned every volume on the shelves, searching for that one misfit. But Rumpelstiltskin designed this place. He wouldn’t do something as obvious as turning a book upside-down or rubbing out a significant letter.

Then she saw it. The very book that brought her there: _Heroes of the Ogre Wars_. She gripped the baby basket tightly, took the book off the shelf, and let herself be spun to the other side.

Now she was facing a spiral staircase. It must lead to the tower! She crept upstairs quietly, just in case Rumpelstiltskin was up there.

He was not. But she could tell she had just entered his private library. There were fewer books up here than downstairs, but more work tables. A scroll lay open on one of them. It had to be the one he made all that fuss over!

She carried the baby basket over and studied the scroll. It was in complicated fairy language, very difficult to decipher. The easiest word to pick out was “fairy.” She wrote it down. Then she tried picking out the verbs. She found one in infinitive form, “to summon,” and another in command, “awaken.” Then a phrase: “night sky.” She knew she was right because the crystal on her necklace warmed against her skin. But when she worked out that she was reading about “the Black Fairy,” the crystal went ice cold.

Belle knew very little about the Black Fairy. The other fairies made a deliberate choice to obscure her within the lore. Everything written about her was in such esoteric language, only the most advanced scholars could translate it. But the iciness of her crystal did not bode well. The Black Fairy must have done some shamefully immoral things.

“What would Rumpelstiltskin want with _her_?” she wondered aloud.

“That’s for me to know, and you never to find out,” he said, suddenly appearing beside her.

He grabbed the scroll and the paper she was using for translation. She’d been tricked! They never discussed her abilities as a translator, but he must have known from the very beginning. Surely, Rumpelstiltskin could recognize a fairy-blessed crystal when he saw one. And he must have guessed how she’d earned it.

“You knew I was going to do this!” she cried.

“Not only did I know, I was planning on it. You really think I left the tower door open by accident? I do not speak fairy, but why should I have to? I have you.”

Belle could have screamed, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He had the translation, and she had no way of magically erasing it. But she could still protect the baby. She’d stood up to Rumpelstiltskin in Sherwood Forest, and she would do it again, using all of her persuasive power.

“I will not let you hurt this baby!” she declared, standing in front of the basket.

Rumpelstiltskin laughed, cast a smoke transport spell on the baby basket, and in an instant, had both basket and baby in his hand.

“The child is no longer your concern,” he told her. “I think you should stay here for a while. I don’t want you to get any ideas about trying to stop me.”

He transported himself out of there and locked the iron door behind him.

Belle pounded on it, but it was no use. Yet she could not give up, not with the baby’s life at stake. The sunny afternoon sky darkened into night. He sped up time so he could awaken the Black Fairy!

[“Help!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7odbR72l_Co) she cried. She didn’t know who would hear her, but she would take help from any source.

Her crystal warmed up. Then it began glowing. Reul Ghorm, the Blue Fairy herself, was coming! Belle had never met her. Only Mother had received that honor. But it was well known that in times of trouble, Reul Ghorm would come to the aid of anyone whose heart was pure and whose aims were true. Glowing azure light shone from under the iron door. Belle opened the sliding window, and the Blue Fairy flew right through it, manifesting in full body before her.

“Rumpelstiltskin is taking a baby to the Black Fairy!” Belle cried.

“I know!” said Blue. “I felt the incantation. And it has fallen to you to stop him!”

“Me? But I don’t have magic.”

“That’s precisely why it has to be you,” said Blue. “My magic can’t save him. But first, we must get you out of here.”

She magicked open the iron door, and Belle was free. But instead of giving further instructions, Blue flew away.

“Wait! Come back!” called Belle. “What do I do next?”

Reul Ghorm did not return. Belle stomped her foot in frustration. Then, a strange sensation overtook her. Her body surged with energy, yet her mind grew calm and clear. Her crystal turned bright blue. Its words vibrated right through her.

“Follow your instincts,” it said in Blue’s voice.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” it said in Mother’s.

“Come heed the call of Gideon,” it sang, just as she had that very morning.

Blue hadn’t left her empty-handed. She magnified the blessing in the crystal, and Belle had only to follow its lead. Now she was galvanized! She didn’t know what she was doing from one moment to the next, but she trusted that help would present itself as she needed it.

She ran down the spiral staircase and through the secret door back to her library. The candelabra lit up as soon as she walked in. It was sitting on the table alongside _Her Handsome Hero_. Belle looked inside the book. Tucked within the pages, bookmarking the last story she’d read to the baby, was a slip of paper with two names on it: Jack and Jill.

The baby’s parents. She was sure of it.

A loud, operatic soprano reverberated through the castle. [“Heia-taha ah! Heia-taha ah!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FfnY3Y6VmA)

“Brunhilde’s battle cry!” exclaimed Belle. She followed the singing to the Great Hall where Mama Bea, in fully human form, was holding onto Brunhilde, whose head was restored, but whose body was still a broomstick.

“I’ve woken up in a right state!” gasped Mama Bea. “What’s happened?”

“Rumpelstiltskin has kidnapped the baby of Jack and Jill!”

“Blimey! I know exactly who they are!”

Brunhilde’s horned helmet floated onto her head. “Our legion shall fly tonight!” she announced.

“On you?” asked Mama Bea. “Like witches?”

“No! [Like Valkyries!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGU1P6lBW6Q&t=30s)

“Let’s go!” cried Belle. “First, we find Rumpelstiltskin!”

They went outside for take-off. Though they had to fly upside-down, with Brunhilde’s head on top and her passengers below, they managed it. Brunhilde sang all the way. Mama Bea did a fair bit of screaming.

Rumpelstiltskin had not left the castle grounds. He was standing in a moonlit clearing with the baby basket. Brunhilde landed them in some nearby bushes.

“We’re going to have to get closer than this,” said Belle.

“Each of our legion must know her role,” said Brunhilde.

“She’s right, love,” said Mama Bea. “Only you can get close to the master."

“But if I see you are in danger, I will fly to your defense," promised Brunhilde. “I pledged to be your guard. Even if it’s against him, the one who contracted me to it.”

That bit of information sent Belle’s mind reeling, but it was not the time to think about it. “All right, then,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

She tiptoed closer and hid behind another bush. Rumpelstiltskin was [summoning the Black Fairy:](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HpfLeb6Jr4)

_Let the night sky tremble,_

_as the Dark Star shall fall._

_Awake, Black Fairy,_

_and heed my call!”_

“A good translation,” thought Belle, remembering the lettering she’d read on the scroll. “ _And_ he made it rhyme. He didn’t need me at all.”

The Black Fairy flew out of the sky and manifested before Rumpelstiltskin. As soon as she was near, Belle’s crystal grew so cold, it hurt to keep it on. She hid it in her dress pocket.

“Who dares summon me?” asked the Black Fairy imperiously.

Rumpelstiltskin threw something on her. She was paralyzed instantly. “Squid ink,” he said. “Nasty stuff.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said with a grin. It seemed she was relishing a fight.

“So you know who I am,” he said.

“Who hasn’t heard of the Dark One? But if you’ve heard of me, then you know squid ink won’t hold me for long.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I have this.” He showed her his dagger.

“Is he planning to kill her?” Belle wondered. “What am I supposed to do about _that_?” Then she remembered what Blue said. Her role didn’t require magic. Whatever battle was about to take place, it was not hers to fight. She just had to save the baby.

As Belle listened to the two of them grandstanding, she realized that Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t looking for a fight at all. He was trying to strike a deal.

“You steal babies,” he accused the Black Fairy. “Steal them from their mothers’ arms. So why, of all the babies in all the realms, did you abandon the one child that was actually yours?”

“She’s his _mother_?” thought Belle.

The Black Fairy was just as stunned. “No! No! It can’t be!”

“Oh, I’m afraid it can be. . . _Mother_.”

Never had Belle heard the word pronounced with such bitterness.

“That’s right,” he went on. “Rumpelstiltskin is your son. Of course, you would know that, had you bothered to even give me a name.”

He was so engrossed in his interrogation, Belle knew this was the moment to make her move. She sneaked up toward the baby basket. 

The Black Fairy laughed. “Funny that the Dark One should ask such a thing. Sometimes you have to choose power over _love_.”

She said the last word with such sickening sweetness that it made for the cruelest taunt Belle had ever heard. She felt terribly sorry for Rumpelstiltskin, but she still could not let him _or_ the Black Fairy take the baby. She grabbed hold of the handles of the basket. The sudden jostling made the baby cry out. Rumpelstiltskin turned and saw what she was doing, but before he could react, the squid ink wore off, and the Black Fairy grabbed him.

“Time’s up!” she sing-songed. “No more answers for you today.” Then she laughed as she got in one last, pitiless barb. “Son!”

She flew away, leaving Rumpelstiltskin staring blankly into the empty sky.

“I understand now,” said Belle, cradling the baby in her arms. “You didn’t deserve what she did, but sacrificing the life of an innocent child is not the answer, no matter how much pain you’re in.”

Still staring in the direction of his absent mother, he lapsed into his native burr. “No one knows anithin' about ma pain.”

Then, without another word, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.

“Back to the castle to lick his wounds,” thought Belle.

Despite her success, her mood was solemn. She carried the baby and his basket to Mama Bea and Brunhilde.

“We must get him back to his parents,” she said. “But fly slower and more gently this time.”

Brunhilde sighed. “That’s the trouble with you maternal types. You fight as fiercely as bears when a child is in danger, but once you’ve got him near you, you go back to your boring, old ways.”

“Call us boring if you will,” said Mama Bea, “but I’m as proud of being a mother as you are of being a Valkyrie.”

“As you should be,” said Belle. Mama Bea helped her put her necklace back on. It made her think of her own mother. And poor Rumpelstiltskin’s lack of one.

As they flew over the village, Mama Bea showed them her own cottage.

“Shall I drop you off on the way back?” asked Brunhilde.

“It’s not worth the risk,” Mama Bea answered. “Besides, I’m supposed to be home by morning. If it’s night here now, morning might not be so far away.”

“I’m probably a lot closer to freedom myself,” said Brunhilde. “I didn’t think _that_ was possible.”

“There,” said Mama Bea, pointing. “That’s where Jack and Jill live.”

Jack was just coming home. He’d probably been out searching for the baby all day.

Brunhilde landed them near the cottage, and Belle returned the baby. His parents were overjoyed.

“Was it the Dark One?” asked Jill.

Belle nodded.

“How did you ever manage to get past him?” marveled Jack.

“I’m his maid.”

It was hardly a complete explanation, but it would have to suffice.

“So run away!” cried Jill. “We’ll hide you! It’s the least we can do.”

“I can’t,” said Belle. She told them what she had told Robin Hood, that her deal required her to stay for her family’s sake, but it wasn’t the whole truth anymore. She was staying for the next Jack and Jill, whoever they might be.

“How can we ever repay you?”

“Please, there’s no need. I’m just happy he’s home safe with you.”

Jill passed the baby to her husband and embraced and kissed Belle.

“Mama? Papa?” came a child’s voice inside the cottage.

“Hush, sweetheart! Everything is fine! Baby Michael is home!”

Jill squeezed Belle’s hand once more, and she and Jack brought the baby inside.

Belle turned around, ready to fly back with her “legion.” Their mission accomplished, perhaps they might celebrate amongst themselves. But a sudden movement in the bushes caught her eye, and she saw it was neither Mama Bea nor Brunhilde. It was Rumpelstiltskin. He’d been hiding there, watching her all along.

Belle walked up to him and looked him squarely in the eye. “Promise me that you will never steal another child again!”

He looked at her mournfully. “I promise,” he mumbled, extending his hand.

Belle jumped. She had not expected him to give in so easily. She was geared up for a much bigger fight. And really, there was nothing compelling him to agree. She had no actual leverage against him. But confronting his mother left him weak, and it was an advantage Belle could not pass up. It would ensure the safety of all the children of the realm.

When Belle took Rumpelstiltskin’s hand to seal the deal, the crystal on her necklace warmed up again, but there was more than that. Gideon’s song was resounding through it, and the whole forest was joining in – the chirping crickets, the wind rustling in the trees. It was one immense harmonizing chorus. Even the stars in the sky seemed to twinkle more brightly. Was her mind playing tricks on her or was the whole realm celebrating?

“Of course, we’re celebrating!” whispered Blue. “Look what you’ve achieved! Rumpelstiltskin’s baby-stealing days are over!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My introduction of Blue varies from canon a little. My Blue and Belle already know quite a bit about each other. I hope nobody minds.


	11. A Higher Calling

Belle was so entranced by the stirrings in the forest, she didn’t notice that Rumpelstiltskin was still holding her hand after they shook on the deal. Only when they were floating through the smoke cloud of a transport spell did she realize he was taking her back to the castle. And when they touched down in the Great Hall, she felt like she was almost used to it.

Mama Bea and Brunhilde were back, too, but in their object forms. Mama Bea was sitting on her tray on the table, and Brunhilde stood propped up against the wall. Both were entirely inanimate.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down at the head of the table, still looking thoroughly miserable. Though it was late, Belle didn’t feel right about leaving him alone.

She touched the teapot. Mama Bea did not awaken, but the tea heated up inside her. Belle poured a little into the chipped cup and served Rumpelstiltskin. He might never forgive his mother, but perhaps he might begin forgiving himself.

“I know you said nobody understands your pain,” she began, “but if you’re willing to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

She sat in the chair beside him and waited.

He said nothing except, “Rider to Contract of Employment.” Two fresh scrolls and a quill appeared on the table.

“Hiding behind formality,” thought Belle. “We’ve done this before.”

He began dictating. “ _As long as Belle remains in his employ_ , _Rumpelstiltskin the Dark One shall not steal, kidnap, or make deals to acquire any infant or child not his own.”_

He looked over at her for approval. She nodded. She saw no need to remind him that the term of her employment contract was forever.

He signed both copies and passed them over so that she could sign also. Then he took one back, snapped it away, and went to his spinning wheel. He brought the teacup with him.

“Shall I go fetch some straw?” asked Belle, standing up.

“Wool,” he said, pointing. “Inside that drawer.”

Belle found the ball of raw wool and brought it to him. He threaded his wheel and began to spin. Not gold, like usual. Just plain, ordinary yarn. He only paused to sip his tea.

She sat nearby without speaking for several minutes. “If he really wanted me to leave, he would have commanded me to,” she thought. “He’s aching to share. I just have to ask the right questions.”

Perhaps it was too much to expect him to discuss his past. He still might be willing to get there by explaining the present. She certainly had plenty to ask about it.

“You never intended for the Black Fairy to get that baby,” she said. “You handed me all the tools to stop you.”

He did not look up from his spinning. “It seems to me you found those tools on your own.”

There was truth in that, but it wasn’t the full story. Yes, Blue had helped her. So had Mama Bea and Brunhilde. Even the candelabra played a role. But Rumpelstiltskin was behind it all, pulling the strings. And though he would only reveal himself in hints, she was learning how to parse them.

“You left me the note with Jack and Jill’s name on it. Nobody else could have done that.”

“That library has ideas of its own,” he said, as the corners of his lips gave the slightest twitch upward. “Perhaps the names just appeared in that book by magic.”

“It was the most important part,” said Belle.

“Oh, really? I am sure Brunhilde will disagree. Mark my words. She’ll be trumpeting about her victorious flight when she next awakens.”

Belle would not let herself be sidetracked. “You didn’t need me to translate fairy language for you, either. You said you don’t speak it, but ‘don’t’ and ‘can’t’ are two different things.”

“I don’t speak it on principle,” he said, “and now you know why.”

“Well, that was pretty direct,” thought Belle. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“I know,” he answered, holding up his teacup as though toasting her.

Encouraged, she went on. “So even when you plan your darkest deeds, you allow room for goodness to win.”

“It very seldom does. At least not without tremendous struggle,” he replied.

“But that’s not the point! The point is: if you take the time do all that, then your heart is pure. You’re not really a monster after all.”

“Oh yes, I am. You have no idea how many evil thoughts are bombarding me at any given time.”

“But how can that be?” said Belle, waving her new contract for emphasis. “You took on the Dark Power to stop a war! That’s the lightest reason there is!”

“Two principles. First, using Darkness to fight Darkness does not change its nature. And second,” he sighed wearily, “all magic comes with a price.”

Belle had heard the phrase repeated many times now, but never with such heaviness and grief. His humor sapped, she could see it for what it was: not the taunt of a trickster, but a sad statement of his own life. He paid for his magic with his own good character. And it was twisting and discoloring him, inside and out. But it didn’t seem fair. He didn’t get that way out of greed. He made a noble sacrifice for the sake of peace!

“The cost seems far too high,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyone can see that the Dark Power has been a burden to you.”

He stopped his spinning and looked at her so intently, it almost frightened her. “Actually, Belle, you are quite likely the only one who has ever seen that. Well, I daresay Reul Ghorm knows it, but she will she never let on.”

He resumed his spinning.

“I don’t understand. If your power causes you so much pain, why not just relinquish it?”

This time, he did not look up. “The Dark Power is no simple matter. It is woven into the fabric of the world, just like the stars, the earth, and all life within it. The only way I can give it up is to pass it on to someone else, and I categorically refuse to do that. Who else can maintain all I have built up?”

To anyone else, he would sound like the power-hungry beast he appeared to be. But Belle knew better. She’d seen him up close with Chief Shrek. He didn’t use his magic to crush and dominate. He used it as a shield, not a weapon.

“You mean like the ogres’ barrier,” she said. “You created it so that the ogres could not reach us, and you guaranteed that we would not provoke them. Your darkness stands between everyone else’s, and we’re all safer because of it.”

“An incomplete picture, but yes, that is one example.”

"If that's just one example, how many more are there?" Belle wondered to herself. In this vast realm of witches and monsters, what else did he control? With all his deal-making, he’d probably taken charge of all sorts of evil, both magical _and_ mundane. She knew what he’d done with Father – propping him up to counterbalance the more powerful King George. But he also made Father agree to listen to Mother. Her greater goodness and reason were meant to reign.

Belle did not dare ask about his other deals. She knew he would never answer anyway. But she was sure that all his machinations added up to good in the end. “I think you are the wisest, most selfless person I have ever met!” she declared.

“Hah!” he shouted. “I am the most selfish creature in all the realms! Ask anyone! Ask your new friends, Jack and Jill.”

He set the wheel on a fast spin. Then he giggled as though he had flummoxed her.

“Oh, Rumple!” she sighed.

He looked up. She had never called him by his intimate name before, and the effect was immediate. Just like when she hugged him in Sherwood Forest, or when she grabbed hold of his hand to thank him for the library, he was completely transformed. If anything, the effect was even more dramatic. After a night of such heartbreak, a tiny sparkle was beginning to dawn.

He swirled his hand around, and a dish piled with meat pies appeared on the table. It was simple peasant fare, but it smelled heavenly. Belle began serving.

“Take for yourself first,” he told her. Though it seemed impolite, she did not disobey. She made a plate for herself, then a plate for him, carried it over to the wheel, and sat back down at the table. He would not take a bite until she ate first.

“They’re delicious,” she said.

“This was dinner every night when I was a child,” he said, taking a forkful himself. “I was apprenticed to a pair of spinners at a very early age. They always insisted I have the first taste.”

“So they were –”

“My adoptive mothers, yes.”

Belle was glad to hear he’d known some love in his life. It stood to reason, given his good side. But those women must have died a very long time ago. He was already an adult in the First Ogres’ War. That made him two hundred years old at least!

They sat without speaking and ate their meat pies. He kept on spinning, and she kept on watching. There was something so transporting about the rhythmic spiral of the wheel, even when it was only producing unmagical yarn.

“Will the Dark Power work in the Land Without Magic?” Belle asked suddenly. “Is that why you want to go there? To get rid of it?”

He took a long sip of his tea. “I never said I wanted to go there. I _must_ go there. Blue set that wheel in motion long ago, and I must say, she laid the perfect bait. But anyway, that’s all very far away. It’s much too early to discuss it. You’ve only just begun to understand how _this_ realm operates.”

Had anyone else said that to her, Belle would have been insulted. Just another way of belittling the bookish princess. But coming from him, it was almost an invitation. She sat back and listened as he began to sing:

_All fairies must protect the just_.

 _The realm is in their sacred trust_.

_But when there’s evil to be foiled,_

_then that becomes the Dark One’s toil._

_When evil lurks in someone’s mind,_

_the Dark One’s never far behind._

_He tempts, cajoles, and makes a deal,_

_allowing them to cheat or steal._

_But when it’s time to pay the price,_

_the Dark One isn’t quite as nice._

_For no one sees the traps he laid._

_It costs a lot to seek his aid._

_Whatever trait that birthed the deed_

_is actually a planted seed._

_The fruits of sin are custom-built._

_The pain should not exceed the guilt._

_But punishment’s an awful chore_

_of keeping track and settling scores._

_The Dark One’s tired of the task,_

_and so he has one thing to ask._

_Dear Belle, I humbly beg your help._

_You’ll find the guidance on your shelves._

_For when the Darkness overcomes,_

_then to your Light, I will succumb._

_And should you fail to pull me back,_

_then you must try another tack._

_Enlist the fairies when need be._

_They’ll come in your emergency._

_For I am not the fairies’ foe,_

_though looks deceive, as you well know._

_We all want you to heal our rift._

_And then the realms you will uplift._

Her crystal grew warmer the whole time he was singing. “Oh, my!” she gasped, clutching at her neck as he finished.

“Yes,” agreed Rumple. “Quite.”

“I don’t know if –”

“If you’ll succeed? Well, none of us does.”

“And by ‘us’ you mean -?”

But she didn’t have to ask. Her crystal was glowing blue.

“Perhaps you’d like to go to your room and discuss it with _her_?” he suggested.

Belle considered this. “Later,” she said. Right now, she had too many questions for _him_. “Brunhilde said . . . you nabbed me from the fairy ranks?”

“Brunhilde!” he scoffed. “Don’t look to _her_ for interpretations! She is here to learn from you, not the other way around. But I’ll answer your question with a question. Did you ever contemplate becoming a fairy? The possibility must have arisen when you were studying their language and lore.”

He was correct, of course. The possibility _had_ come up, and it caused a terrible family row. Father was vehemently opposed. He said they could not let beauty like hers go to waste. His goal had always been to marry her off to a prince who would enhance Avonlea’s prestige. Gaston was a nobleman, not a prince, but he was so ambitious, Father approved of him anyway. He was a ruthless soldier, certain to make many conquests and amass power.

Mother assured her she did not have to give into Father’s pressure. “No one decides your fate but you,” she said.

“She has a duty to the kingdom!” protested Father.

“Not if she has a higher calling,” said Mother.

“My gods! I’ve always said her education was making her unfit for marriage, but I never thought you’d take it this far!”

“ _I_ am not the one pressuring her. I simply made sure she got the education that would open multiple doors. _She_ will choose which one to enter.”

And Belle did choose. She would never have accepted Gaston if not for the war, but she’d already decided against becoming a fairy before then. Being stuck in a loveless, arranged marriage was the expected fate of a princess. She understood that even before she came of age. But becoming a fairy meant she could never be a mother either. And she dreamed of motherhood the way other young women planned out their perfect wedding day.

Belle found herself staring at the steady circles of Rumple’s wheel as her mind returned to the present. Taking care of kidnapped Baby Michael was actually the most enjoyable task she’d been given so far. While she was so worried about his safety, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else, but now she could appreciate all the sweet moments of the day: cradling him in her arms, feeling his tiny fingers wrapped around her own, reading to him about Gideon.

Rumpelstiltskin’s voice woke her out of her reverie. “So is it fair to say I ‘nabbed’ you from the fairies?”

“Do you read minds?” she asked, disturbed.

“I get glimpses, but never full detail. Don’t worry. Your private thoughts are safe from me.”

“Good,” thought Belle. Her parents’ quarrel embarrassed her, and even though her new contract ought to make it clear, she didn’t want him thinking she condoned taking someone else’s baby, no matter how much she enjoyed having one around.

Then an unpleasant thought struck her. Though she hadn’t become a fairy, she was still living their fate – everything she’d hoped to avoid. She could neither marry nor have children as Rumpelstiltskin’s maid. And now she’d just made sure she’d never bestow her love and care on a baby again.

“There was no other way,” she told herself, but as much as she wanted to hold back, the tears escaped her eyes.

The next instant was a confusing blur. The chipped teacup was suddenly floating right beside her face, catching her teardrops as they fell. But before she could push the cup away, Rumple pulled it back to himself and downed its contents.

“Ahhh,” he said. “The best medicine.”

Belle stared at him. He giggled. A soft, happy laugh. Not hard and bitter like his “Hah!” or rascally and mocking like usual.

“Go on, dearie. That can’t be the last of your questions.”

It wasn’t, but adjusting to his mood shifts was like reorienting herself after a transport spell. She had to collect herself a moment. “So even without fairy training, am I . . .magical?”

“Potentially.”

“Is that why you wanted me here? To teach me?”

“Teach you?! That’s not how I’d describe what we’re doing. But I fully expect you to learn.”

Belle pondered this. She’d learned plenty, just in this conversation. And over the last three days, she’d had such a wide variety of new experiences, it was like her whole world was exploding. But with everything coming at her so quickly, she’d barely had time to process it all.

“We’re both better off if you stay as you are,” said Rumple. “It’s like that crystal around your neck. I _could_ add my own magic to it, but why would I ever sully anything that pure?”

Belle didn’t know how to respond to such a compliment. She wasn’t sure how to phrase her next question, either. Simple words could not do it justice. Then, inspiration hit her. She touched the handle of the teapot. A half-human Mama Bea yawned and said, “What is it, love? Time to make breakfast already?”

She removed her hand. Mama Bea turned into a teapot again.

“Yes, those charms will persist regardless,” he said.

“But who controls it? You or me?”

“It could be either one. It comes down to fate, really. Sometimes your fate is tied to the person in the object. Sometimes mine is. Most likely, it’s a combination of all of us. This world is full of hidden connections in desperate need of unraveling.”

Belle sat back in her chair. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I’d say you’re holding your own quite well.” He levitated and lowered the scroll in her lap. “Look at the terms you got out of the Dark One.”

“But, Rumple, I –”

“Ah, very well then, if you insist, I will teach you a few spells. Magic words, to be precise.”

“But –”

“Hush. The first word is, ‘Please.’ Say it right, and I will do as you ask.”

Belle looked him doubtfully. “Is this another one of your jokes?”

“No, Belle. Now, please try it.”

“Oh!” she gasped, feeling it. First her name. That was just like when he whispered it from the library door, gentle yet strong. The “please” was similar. It wasn’t forceful at all, yet she absolutely had to obey it.

“Please, Rumpelstiltskin, may we leave this for tomorrow?”

“Yes, Belle,” he said standing up. “I’m sorry I put you through such hell tonight. Thank you for sticking through it with me.”

She felt every single word. The bolt of energy from her name. The hope of reconciliation in the “I’m sorry.” The heartfelt “thank you.” Even the sting of the word “hell.” It brought back the cold, cruel presence of the Black Fairy for a fraction of a second. Belle never wanted to feel _that_ again.

She stood up, too, and looked into his eyes. Everything was right there. The mix of Dark and Light. The war raging within him. The faith he was placing in her.

“Dear G-d,” she thought. “This is bigger than making peace in Avonlea. Can I really handle it? What if I make a mistake?”

“We’ll help you,” said Blue’s voice in her ear. Or perhaps it was in her mind. Or her crystal. Or all three.

Rumple stood by patiently, waiting for her response.

What could she possibly say? “Good night, Rumpelstiltskin,” she faltered.

He smiled and held out his hand, not for a handshake, but with his palm upward, a gesture of openness and friendship. She grasped it, and he cast a transport spell over them. They landed in her library, touching down so lightly on the floor, it was as though they were cushioned.

“Good night, Belle,” he said, “and thank you again.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Now standing alone, she soaked up the goodwill of his parting words. It was astounding how he could pack his magic into ordinary conversation!

Her contract unfurled itself. Belle understood that like the candelabra, it was giving her signals. It was asking to be read. “If you think _those_ words are something,” it was saying, “then have a look at mine!”

Belle re-read the single, fateful sentence. It didn’t make her feel any different inside, but when a breeze blew in from the window, she knew the library was reacting. The cover of _Her Handsome Hero_ opened with a smack on the table. The contract pulled itself out of her grasp, floated to the book, and inserted itself within the pages. Belle went to see where it went, but the other pages began rustling in the wind, so she lost the place. And before she got a chance to find it, the library itself began singing. It was just like the forest bursting into song, except in here, all the voices were human.

“They’re coming through the books!” Belle realized in amazement. They were singing “The Call of Gideon.” And the deepest, most distinct note of all was in Rumple’s voice.

Tempted as she was to stay up listening, she was simply too tired. “What a day it’s been!” she thought, going into her room. Rumple had sped up the night, and now morning felt unnaturally long ago. She wondered if she’d ever get used to this.

But really, the time changes were the least of it. _She_ was chosen to help Rumple bear the burden of the Dark Power. She’d even have to restrain him when the Power got the better of him.

It was altogether too big to think about! Both Blue and Rumple had so much confidence in her, but neither of them had seen her at her worst – abandoning Anna. What if she did something like that again? Just because she won tonight didn’t mean she always would.

“l was a fool for wanting adventure,” she thought, crawling into bed. “I hope tomorrow will be quieter.”

Outside her bedroom door, the voices in the library receded to a hum. “Whatever you wish,” it seemed to answer.


	12. Mind Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably not the only Rumbelle fan who felt that the plot line in which Belle lost the memory of her mother's death was full of holes. Here's where I paste things up. To all non-fans, this is where I finally explain Belle's trip at the very beginning of the story. If you watch the third video link, you will see why she feels such guilt over the fate of her friend Anna. For further clarification, see my notes at the end.

True to his pledge to Belle, Rumpelstiltskin did not bring her any more babies, nor did he force her into any other confrontations with life and death consequences. He continued bossing her around, and sometimes he even insulted her, but that was the worst he made her deal with. After having faced him down twice, she deserved a rest.

He slowed time to a crawl within the castle and let her settle into a regular routine. By day, she cleaned, sometimes with Mrs. Potts, but mostly alone. When she grew tired, dusk would fall around the grounds, and that was her signal to serve dinner. After that, she could do whatever she chose. Usually, she read in her library until she was ready to retire to her quarters.

Rumpelstiltskin adjusted his own schedule to track hers. While she was working with Mrs. Potts, he shut himself up in his brewing room, but if she was dusting the Great Hall, he made sure to be down there at his wheel. He conjured up new objects for her to clean, just to keep her nearby. He left all his outside business for the hours when she slept, stretching or speeding the time for them as needed.

But even his Dark pursuits were losing their attraction. He’d taken to spending most nights in her library. As soon as she was safely locked behind her bedroom door, he would tiptoe inside and catch up with whatever she’d been reading. She favored Austen and Brontë from the unmagical shelves, but she was also working her way through Jefferson’s travel books. When she began the book on the Land Without Color, he decided it was time to allow her into his brewing room.

“It’s a laboratory!” she cried, marveling at the multi-colored chemical solutions bubbling in their flasks. “Just like in the pictures!”

“Photographs,” he corrected her. He conjured up a pail of sudsy water next to his test tubes. She set right to washing them, but her eyes were still roving around the room, jumping from the steaming cauldrons on the magical side to the rows of unfamiliar gadgets right in front of her.

“Are all these things imports?”

“No, actually. I bought them myself in the realm they were made.”

“In the Land Without Color?”

“That’s right.”

She sighed wistfully. “That must be something to see!”

“Not really.” Though he hoped he might show her the world someday, now was not the time, and the Land Without Color was decidedly not the place. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Colorless. Unmagical. All these potions would look as plain as water over there. It’s quite dull really.”

Ever the skeptic, she saw right through him. “You must be going there for _some_ reason.”

“I [study with a doctor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBF0XQBozOw) who lives there,” he conceded. “In that realm, doctors and scientists are the equivalent of sorcerers.”

She mulled this over a moment. It was a particularly appealing habit of hers. Unlike most people, she generally thought before she spoke.

“So you do have friends . . .outside.”

“Friends?” he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! My relationships with people fall under two distinct categories: those who owe me and those who can offer a fair trade.”

Of course, she herself was in a category of her own, though she didn’t know it. She was the only person in all the realms he was truly indebted to. But he had the rest of her lifetime to repay her. He could not make her immortal, but he could stretch out her years, keeping her forever young, healthy, and with any luck, as happy as was in his power.

“Which type of person is the doctor?”

“A fair trader. Science is not as sure as magic, but it’s still an art worth learning.”

Belle picked up the long brush meant to scrub the bottoms of the narrowest test tubes. Whether by instinct or information, she seemed to know how to use it. “I met some doctors once. My father called them in for me [after my mother died. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ak1rJh-8Mno&t=5s%20target=) They were horrible. They confined me to my room and made me drink a potion they said would calm me down. What it really did was make me sleep through the funeral. And when I woke up, I was completely confused because I couldn’t remember how she died. I still can’t remember, no matter how I’ve tried. . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“The Chamberlen Brothers,” he said. He knew those two would come up sooner or later, and her being her, naturally it was sooner. “Those two fakers don’t know magic _or_ science, though they seem to dabble in both. I had my eye on them for a long time.” 

“Are they from another realm?”

“I suspect so, but I never could determine where. In any case, they have no power in this realm. My curse made sure of that.” He snickered as his Dark Side flared.

“What did you _do_?” She was horrified yet fascinated. Her injured heart, though naturally magnanimous, still craved a reckoning.

“Nothing they didn’t deserve. Every potion they brew will now affect them before they can give it to anyone else. The minute they mix it, they’ll feel it, whether it’s a poison, a memory erasure, or something else.”

She went quiet once again.

“Contrary to what people believe,” he continued, “the Dark One punishes with justice, not vengeance. Though I readily admit, the line between the two is very fine, and people tend to slip.”

She pulled an unused dust rag out of her pocket to dry off the jars. Looking sideways at him, she asked shyly, “Did you know what they did to _me_?”

They were edging toward secrets now. He never intended to reveal his full role. But he understood the unspoken questions behind the words. Since he had his eye on them, did that mean he'd been watching her, too? And for how long? 

He answered her with two simple truths. “Yes, I knew about the memory erasure, but only later did I find out it was you.”

He braced himself for her next question. He’d left out plenty, and her inquisitive mind might fill in the gaps in any number of ways. But when she turned to him with her face lit up in excitement, he dreaded what he knew she was about to say.

“Can _you_ restore my memory?”

“Oh, Belle,” he thought, “please let’s not do this.”

He hated to watch her sink into such foolishness. She was as eager as any of his other customers. He had to make her understand just how bad an idea this was.

“Perhaps I can, but why in Heaven’s name would you want me to? You know your mother was killed by ogres, so you know it must have been terribly violent. It seems like a memory you’re better off without.”

“It’s not so much that I want the memory back. I just don’t like that my mind was tampered with. It’s like those doctors stole a piece of me.”

Little did she know, they tried to steal much more.

“I understand,” he said. She _did_ have a point. But he had to dissuade her anyway. “You do realize this is beyond the terms of our contract. And all magic comes with a price.”

“All right,” she said, drying her hands on her apron. “What do you want?”

“Not so fast. Answer me a few questions first. Am I the only wizard you’ve consulted with this problem? Or did you try restoring your memory by some other means?”

“I did get hold of [a memory stone,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxGWKA0iDUg) but –”

“Ooh, pricey little items, those stones. And I assume it slipped right out of your fingers.” He wriggled his own fingers as he said it. “They do that, you know.”

She stared at him in amazement. “You know everything!”

“No, not everything. But this is all quite easy to deduce when you understand magic. Memory stones are sentient objects. They take precautions against trauma. They’d sooner escape it than face it, and they’re almost always right.”

Belle grew even more pensive than usual. “So you’re saying. . . the stone wouldn’t have helped me anyway?”

“I’m afraid not. And I imagine you paid a steep price for it, too.”

With that, she turned her back. Evidently, he’d hit a sore point.

“You needn’t be ashamed, Belle. Nobody gets through life without someone hoodwinking them when they’re desperate.”

She did not look up. She busied herself arranging the now-clean test tubes.

“So, no deal, then,” he concluded.

“What?” she cried, nearly dropping a glass. “I didn’t say I made up my mind.”

“Yes, but I have,” he sneered, letting his Darkness get the final word. “What can you possibly offer me anyway? You’ve already promised to live and work here forever.”

She shot him a resentful look and went over to the opposite corner of the room. She began dusting the shelves where he stored his ingredients. For a few minutes, they worked apart and in total silence. She would not even look in his direction.

He was glad to have won a round for once, but the price he was paying was painfully high. He’d rather quarrel than get the cold shoulder treatment. How could he get her talking again? He tried feeling her out with his Inner Seer, but her defenses were too thick.

“There’s much more to this than she’s willing to let on,” he observed.

He sent a dry rag floating her way and let her exchange it for her damp and dirty one. But when the used cloth came back, the Thought Transfer on it was far too weak. The spell couldn’t work properly unless they were both touching it together. He could pick up on her feelings, but got no imagery to complete the context. Still, the feelings were vivid. Almost overpowering. Belle had a bad case of survivor’s guilt.

“Because her mother died to save her,” he surmised.

Poor Belle. This was the kind of burden people carried around for the rest of their lives. It was probably the reason Maurice wanted to erase her memory – to spare her. A thoroughly misguided plan, but at least it came from a place of love.

He wished he could say something to comfort her, but there was no real comfort for the loss of someone so beloved, especially in so tragic a circumstance. The best he might do was distract her.

“Travel,” he thought. It was sure to work.

“Did I mention that I received a summons from King Arthur’s court?” he asked casually.

She spun right around. “King Arthur!”

“Yes, he has an interesting proposition for me. I’ll be leaving for Camelot tonight.”

He was almost proud of himself until her next question.

“Will you be needing me there?”

Oops. Not a well-planned tactic at all. “Certainly not! This is a simple business transaction.”

And an extremely Dark one at that.

“You took me to Sherwood Forest.”

As if he needed a reminder. “You served a purpose then.”

“Hmmphf!” she sniffed, turning back to her dusting.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he thought. He’d meet her fire with a spark of his own. No more hardening into ice.

“Just what is it you expect to see there, anyway? Ballrooms and jousts? The Dark One doesn’t take pleasure trips.”

“I realize that but –“

“But what?” he challenged. And then, before she could make another retort, a strange impulse popped into his mind. It was _better_ than provoking a spat. Though he could not bring Belle to Camelot, he _could_ bring a little Camelot to Belle.

“Very well then,” he sighed, as though she had been nagging him. “If we must.”

He held out his hand. Though puzzled, she took it. He snapped them downstairs to the Great Hall.

“Well, look at that,” he said, as she let go. “Transport is old hat to you now.”

“That wasn’t a very great distance.”

“True.”

He snapped his fingers again, and her blue uniform lengthened into a ruffled, yellow ballgown, softer and more subdued than the gold satin one she arrived in. Belle looked down at herself. Beaming, she looked back up at him.

“What _has_ come over you?”

Unable to account for it himself, he did not answer. He simply clapped Cogsworth awake, and endowed him a new ability. Cogsworth was now a violinist. He struck up a light-hearted waltz.

Rumpelstiltskin bowed and offered his hand once again. “Care to dance, Princess Belle?”

Hesitantly, wordlessly, she accepted. She slipped her hand into his proffered one and placed the other on top of his shoulder. He drew near and put his free hand around her waist. His heart was racing. Longing pulsed through him.

“Just concentrate on the dance!” he ordered himself.

They started off with a simple box step. She followed his lead with the grace and lightness of a floating butterfly. He waltzed her all around the room, nodding to Cogsworth to pick up the tempo. He wished he could lift her high and dip her low, but those steps demanded more physical closeness than she might be willing to allow. So instead, he stepped back to give her room to twirl. She giggled and spun around twice before stepping close to him again.

As she relaxed into the dance, the room began to transform. The table disappeared, and the windows grew taller. The curtains opened, and sunlight poured in. Soon his carpets were replaced by shiny marble floors, and the room grew so long he wondered if it would ever end. Armored knights appeared around the periphery, standing guard over them, the two lone dancers.

“It’s like all the books I’ve ever read put together!” she exclaimed.

This kind of magic was such fun to use with her informed mind shaping it! He burst into giggles.

But for some reason, _that_ did not please her. Frowning, she pulled back from him. “You’ve been making fun of me this whole time!” she accused.

“I wasn’t! I promise!”

She said nothing, but her beautiful blue eyes grew colder.

“I honestly thought you would like it.”

“I _did_ like it. . .until you laughed. You laugh at _everything_.”

“Not at you. Never at you. I was just laughing at the spell.” How could he have fouled it up _this_ badly?

“Well, what the hell’s the difference? The spell works off my mind, doesn’t it?”

“Belle! Don’t swear! You don’t know your own strength!”

She turned away in a huff and stalked off in the direction of her quarters. Her gown turned back into her ordinary dress. The Great Hall shrunk back to its normal size and décor, too.

He could not let it end this way. He transported himself into the library and blocked her bedroom door.

“Out of my way!” she yelled.

“Belle, _please._ Listen to me.”

She rolled her eyes. She was compelled to listen.

It was time to bring out the heavy artillery. He conjured up the tea set and placed it beside her reading couch.

“Please take tea with me,” he begged.

They sat on the couch together, and _he_ poured, serving her from the chipped cup.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as she took her first sip.

Her eyes widened as she felt the depth of his apology. “I know you are, Rumple,” she replied, making his heart patter faster when she used his name. “But I don’t like that kind of magic. It reaches into my mind and creates. . . illusions.”

Good Lord, had he botched it!

“So you feel that spell stole a tiny piece of you? Like what the Chamberlen Brothers did? If I would have known. . .”

She put her hand on top of his. “No, no, please don’t think that. What they did to me was permanent. I guess I over-reacted.”

He was lucky she was so quick to forgive.

“I’ll never do it again,” he assured her. Anything to avoid the pain of her rejection. Yet something told him to stop short of adding the binding words, “I promise.”

“It’s not your fault, really,” she went on. “It’s just that for a princess, a ballroom is a place of diplomacy. My father always expected me to make some great alliance on the dance floor. That spoiled all the fun and. . .” She couldn’t meet his eye as she struggled to get out the last word. “Romance.”

“What the hell was I thinking?” Rumpelstiltskin inwardly cursed himself. “Dancing with the princess who prefers books to ballrooms?”

“Anyway, I guess all that stuff got mixed up in the spell, too. Like I said, it’s not your fault.”

But Rumpelstiltskin could not pardon himself as easily she did. Of all kingdoms in the realm, Camelot was the most notorious for just that sort of power jockeying. He couldn’t have made a worse choice. How could he make amends to her now?

The moment he finished the thought, a book popped onto the table. She picked it up.

“ _Silas Marner: the Weaver of Raveloe_ ,” she read aloud. She put the book in her lap. “The library works on Mind Magic, too, doesn’t it?”

“The most finely tuned that exists.”

“Well, I suppose it’s not very consistent of me, but I _love_ the Mind Magic in here.” She tapped the book. “Like this. Did you make that happen?”

“I can’t take credit. As I told you, the library has ideas of its own.”

She fixed him with her skeptical look.

“I can swear on my dagger if you want me to.”

“No, I trust you,” said Belle quickly. Even without knowing how serious the oath was, her instincts steered her away from it. 

“If I wanted to recommend a book to you,” said Rumpelstiltskin, back on firm ground at last, “here is what I would do.” He lifted up his hand and quoted, “ _’We may sit in our library, yet be in all corners of the earth_.’” The copy of Sir John Lubbock’s _The Pleasures of Life_ floated toward them. He caught it and handed it to her. “For whenever you’ve finished with the story of the weaver.”

“Oh, Rumple.”

Ah, what a salve it was whenever she said his name! “Freeze!” he called to Cogsworth, making all time stop in the castle. He gave himself a few minutes to let her forgiveness sink in. “All right,” he called. “Resume!”

Belle, and everything else around them, blinked back to life.

“I know you want to see the world,” he told her, “but there are worlds unto themselves right here. Every object in my cabinets has a rich history you might research.”

She grinned. “So I have permission to look around while you’re gone?”

“Ye-es,” he agreed reluctantly, afraid to upset her again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” she assured him, holding up the chipped cup. “I won’t break a thing.”

“Of course not,” he said, though it was clear to see what was coming. The impossible was already happening. He - the Dark One - was falling in love. And she could never return his affections. He was just the clumsy monster who misread her thoughts, trifled with her feelings, and trod upon her toes.

His heart was breaking already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To non-fans, Belle went to Arendelle to acquire the memory stone. It slipped out of her fingers even though she attempted to save it. That happened at Anna's expense. Rumpelstiltskin thinks Belle's survivor's guilt is about her mother, but it's actually about Anna. And Belle, in her shame, will not tell him about it.


	13. Blessings and Curses

Since Rumpelstiltskin and Belle seemed to be living together in relative harmony, Blue left them to themselves. She would come in case of a crisis, but Belle had proven she could handle him most of the time, even when she had to oppose him. She was surpassing everyone’s expectations, especially Rumpelstiltskin’s. Blue kept watch from a distance.

Belle eventually summoned Blue, but only after Rumpelstiltskin left her alone in the castle. He’d gone on another one of his jaunts, this time to Camelot. That Belle craved solitude for this discussion was only fitting and proper. And Blue had been expecting her call. Belle had a daunting task before her. Anyone would be anxious. So Blue arrived in Belle’s bedroom, prepared for a long unburdening. She was taken by surprise when Belle turned out to have more on her mind than just Rumpelstiltskin. Belle asked for her help with something seemingly unrelated.

“My friend Anna of Arendelle was captured by a witch, and it’s all my fault!” she lamented. “Can you free her?”

Belle was eating herself up with guilt over this. Blue wanted more than anything to grant her wish and relieve her, but complicated forces were in play. To start with, Anna was another of Rumpelstiltskin’s maidens. She even signed a contract with him. When she broke it by escaping, her increment of his redemption fell to Belle, but Anna still sealed her fate of being held captive by someone, sometime.

Then there was the matter of who Anna’s captor _was_. “What did the witch say to you when she captured Anna?”

Blue already knew the answer. She could see and hear the memory replaying in Belle’s mind. But having her repeat it was the most efficient way of making her understand.

“She said it was family business.”

Blue nodded. “That’s right. And whenever there’s a knotty family history, the family itself has to address the old injuries. Forgiveness must begin with them. Only then can my blessing be complete.”

“Well, can’t you change whatever it is that made the witch so angry?”

“No one can change the past, if that’s what you’re asking. And as to changing the present, there’s the added problem of all this happening in Arendelle. That kingdom has its own pantheon. They’re not likely to let me through.”

“But you’re the most powerful force in the Land!”

Blue shook her head sadly. “In some ways yes, but the demigods will fight to keep whatever stronghold they have. If I intervene in Arendelle, it could touch off worse problems, and not just for Anna.”

Belle stood up and began pacing up and down. “How can I claim to be on the side of good if I don’t fix this? It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done!”

“Oh, Belle,” said Blue, as soothingly as she could. “Don’t pressure yourself so! You’re not responsible for the whole realm.”

“It sure feels that way to me!” Belle cried, throwing herself back onto her bed. Then, ashamed to have taken such a tone, she sat up and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Blue. “My novices go through this, too. But ultimately, everyone learns that we’re all part of a team. Nobody has to carry it alone.” She lifted Belle’s chin. “Even the ones who’ve stepped up to the biggest challenges.”

Belle calmed down to Blue’s touch. The crystal was working on her, too. Blue could see the ideas hatching. She waited quietly.

“Well, if you can’t free Anna,” said Belle, “can you make her prison cell more comfortable? And do it invisibly so the witch doesn’t know it?”

"Tricky,” said Blue, “but let’s see what we can do. Here, take my hands.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “I’m helping?”

“You'll be doing much more than that,” Blue answered, sitting down beside Belle. The two joined hands. “Now, close your eyes and think of everything you want to give Anna. Start by thinking of what makes _you_ happy. Give your friend the benefits you yourself are grateful to have.”

Belle’s first thought was of her library. Blue followed her mind there and saw right away that it was built for Belle’s unique mission. “No, no. Think of something more basic.”

Belle understood. She thought of the most basic need of all: food. She once feared she would starve to death as Rumpelstiltskin’s prisoner. But she was given tea and biscuits every morning for breakfast and simple peasant fare for dinner. Nothing as fine as the food served in her parents’ palace, but it was good enough.

“Excellent start. Keep going.”

A comfortable bed to sleep in. A warm bath every night. Belle was not overworked. She was a servant, but not a slave. “But Anna is not even that. She’s probably stuck in her cell day and night,” Belle thought, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“The tears of a pure heart,” observed Blue. The flow of blessing was bursting open and pouring forth. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just keep going.”

“Privacy,” thought Belle, as the door to her room magically shut.

Now, that was intriguing! Blue sent her mind to the door and then around the rest of the room. Aside from the locking spell that Belle had just triggered, the walls were coated with squid ink. If Rumpelstiltskin ever broke through the spell and entered, he would be immobilized immediately. And if that weren’t restraint enough, he’d added one more barrier against himself. He’d mixed in copious amounts of his own lonely tears. Just sending his mind into the room would blind him. He could never sneak a peek at Belle bathing or getting undressed.

These spells could be broken, but the key to undoing them lay in Belle’s heart. The safeguards would vanish if she needed them to. Presumably, they were tied to her distress call, much like the blessing Blue had put in Belle’s crystal. Blue would always know when Belle needed her most.

As Blue’s mind was wandering around the room, Belle’s went wandering, too. And the next image startled Blue so much, her full attention swung back to Belle. The image flashed by in an instant, but it was too extraordinary to ignore. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin were dancing together.

“Mercy!” she thought. “They’re falling in love.”

Blue could barely believe what she was seeing. Was this a glimpse of the future or was it Belle’s deep-seated wish? If it _was_ merely a wish, Belle was trying hard to tamp it down. She was right to be cautious, but Blue could not forget: though it had been said in jest, true love’s kiss was part of the original prophecy.

Fate would take the lead, as it always did. Blue would not intervene, at least not yet. Besides, Belle was already back to worrying about Anna.

“Now we will finish,” said Blue. “Envision Anna and shower her in your love.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Belle concentrated on Anna, and Blue focused on Belle. Her sincere wish to make things up to Anna would surmount whatever obstacle the pantheon could put in their way. 

“There,” said Blue, as they opened their eyes and released their hands. “It was a beautiful blessing. You’ve done the very best you could for her. Will you try and forgive yourself now?”

“I’ll try,” said Belle.

Blue knew it was the most she could hope for. “May I see your library?” she asked.

Belle’s face lit up, and the door to her library magically opened. The two stepped out, and Belle began showing Blue the different sections and shelves.

Blue let Belle prattle on, but Book Magic was not her specialty. She was just happy Belle’s enthusiasm for the library was making her put aside her guilt, at least for the moment. Meanwhile, she sent her mind around the perimeter and gathered impressions of the underlying structure.

“Heaven and earth!” she thought. “He built it from his own happiness. It’s almost entirely Light Magic!”

Belle looked at Blue expectantly, waiting for her to say something. “He’s really outdone himself,” she acknowledged. Actually, Belle had no idea how much. But if things had really come this far, then Belle needed to understand him better.

“There’s something in this castle I need you to look at,” Blue told her. “It’s in the cellar. I cannot take you there.”

“I’m not supposed to go there, either,” said Belle. “Rumple warned me on my very first day.”

Blue took note of her use of the nickname.

“Then bring your broom with you, just in case,” she said.

She was certain the Valkyrie could be trusted to keep Belle out of harm’s way. The Curse of the Wood Flesh, one of Rumpelstiltskin’s own inventions, deftly controlled bad behavior. She’d found occasion to copy it and use it herself sometimes. Punishment was his domain, and forgiveness hers, but every soul required a different balance.

Blue touched Belle’s crystal so that it glowed. “Help is all around you,” she reminded her. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” said Belle. “And thank you for coming.”

“I will come whenever you call,” Blue assured her. She assumed her fairy form and flew away.

* * *

Belle did as Blue advised. She left the library, got her broom, and went down into the cellar. But as far as she could tell, there was absolutely nothing there to see. The cellar was dark, dank, and empty. The only thing in it was a thick layer of dust, so she began to sweep.

“I suppose something will just pop out of nowhere when I’m least expecting it,” she thought. “And there’ll be no way to brace myself for it.”

As was her wont while working alone, she started to sing. First, “The Call of Gideon,” which was upbeat and always helped her keep up a good pace. After that, she hummed a familiar waltz tune. She couldn’t quite place where she learned it, but it filled her with a sudden urge to curtsy to her broom and twirl around with it as she swept. At first she giggled at her own silliness, but then she noticed that the floor was changing from hard stone to soft earth right beneath her feet. She abruptly stopped.

“I’ve been singing the tune I danced to with Rumple,” she realized. “And it cast a similar spell.”

It was then that she noticed how much the cellar had transformed. Half of it remained empty, but the place she was standing in had become a plainly furnished room, as humble as her library upstairs was grand. It contained the bare minimum of items a peasant family might need: an unlit fireplace with a few pots hanging over it, a table and chairs with plates and cups stacked on top, and two beds in the far corners. Even a dog’s leash hung on the wall.

“He keeps a dog down here?” Belle thought incredulously. Then she remembered that he must be keeping horses somewhere on the grounds. She hadn’t seen them since they’d ridden to Sherwood Forest, but that didn’t mean they weren’t alive and nearby.

Near the fireplace stood a spinning wheel. It was unpolished and rickety, not sturdy and well-kept like the one upstairs. She took a rag out of her pocket and began dusting it off.

So _this_ was what Blue wanted her to see. Rumple’s old home. Morraine had written that he built his castle around it, but Belle hadn’t imagined that he’d bother to preserve it just as it was.

“Perhaps I should remake the beds,” she thought. “They probably haven’t been changed in years.”

But when she went close and leaned over one of them, something else caught her eye. Underneath the large bed was a small, child-sized trundle.

“The trundle for Rumple, and the big ones for the spinners,” she guessed, but then, she recalled that Rumple was already an adult when Morraine knew him. This might not be his childhood home at all. Perhaps he was married once. With a child of his own.

She looked around some more. Folded up in an open trunk were clothes. Trousers and shirts and a tiny cloak. A little boy’s clothes.

More of Morraine’s words came right back to her: _Leave my personal grief out of it._

“Oh, Rumple!” she thought. “What a tragic life you’ve led! Who have you been grieving for?”

She knew she would have to ask him. Surely it was the main reason Blue sent her down here. But she would not rush into anything. He’d shut her out if she didn’t handle it delicately. And the loss of his child might be even more painful than the abandonment by his mother.

Now nervous about altering the room, Belle turned back to the empty part of the cellar. The old cottage vanished behind her, but other things were appearing in her path. An imposingly tall door seemed to grow right in front of her. It was bolted shut with a proportionately gigantic lock. To its side stood one of Rumple’s covered mirrors.

Belle knew she couldn’t get past the lock, but she wondered if Blue meant for her to look in the mirror, too. It defied Rumple’s orders, but as Belle understood her mission, she was serving both of them. Blue might even outrank him. And Mama Bea had once seen his human face in the Mirror of Souls. Perhaps this _was_ the Mirror of Souls, enlarged by magic. Perhaps it would show her old Rumple the spinner. Or the little boy who wore those clothes.

Carefully, Belle pulled back a bit of the sheet covering the mirror and took a peek. A turbaned genie met her gaze. “If you let me out of here, I’ll grant you three wishes,” he said.

“NOOOO!” shrieked Belle, stepping backward as the sheet fell back into place.

Belle was still screaming when she was swept off her feet and carried upstairs. It all happened so fast, she did not know what was going on until she caught her breath. Brunhilde, in broom form, had flown her up to the Great Hall. She was full-bodied now, standing over Belle and glowering. When her helmet disappeared, she launched into a scolding.

“That was his _vault_!” she yelled. “Never go back there again! He stores his most dangerous magic in there! Things so foul, even he doesn’t know what to do with them!”

Cogsworth, in human form, came running up from the cellar himself. “What in hell were you doing down there?” he demanded.

“Cripes! What’s all the fuss?” cried Mama Bea, waking up in her teapot body.

“Belle’s been snooping where she shouldn’t,” said Brunhilde.

“And we must assess the damage,” added Cogsworth.

Now, on top of being flustered, Belle was embarrassed, too. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Mama Bea stretched out her handle and patted Belle’s hand. “I’m sure there’s no harm done, love,” she said. “Just sit down, have a spot of tea, and we’ll all discuss it calmly.”

Belle’s heart was still racing, but she poured herself a cup. She even offered some to Brunhilde and Cogsworth. They were both so furious, she’d serve either one of them from the chipped cup if they’d deign to accept it. They both declined, but at least Cogsworth was returning to his ordinary steadiness.

“Very well, we will consider the matter rationally,” he said, sitting opposite Belle. “Did you look in the mirror?”

She nodded.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Tell us what you saw.”

“The Genie of Agrabah,” she said as a chill ran through her. “The murderer of King Leopold. I recognized him from the picture in the biography. But I thought he was in prison!”

“Evidently, he is,” said Cogsworth. “Here.”

“Aren’t genies kept in bottles?” asked Mama Bea. “What’s he doing in a mirror?”

“What are you doing in a teapot?” snapped Brunhilde. “We’re dealing with the Dark One, remember?”

“The main thing is that we must all keep quiet about this,” said Cogsworth. “Especially you, Belle.”

“Aww, shuddup, ye nancy,” said a saucer, suddenly perking up. “She should go back to that genie and wish us all outta ‘ere.”

“It’s the stable hand!” said Mama Bea. “How long have you been in _my_ set?” But the saucer went lifeless immediately and couldn’t answer.

“Ignoramus,” muttered Cogsworth. “Imagine using genie magic to try and escape the Dark One! We’d all land in double the trouble.”

“I know better than to talk to a genie anyway,” said Belle. “Especially that one.”

“But can you stay silent around the master?” said Cogsworth. “One dance and he might wheedle it out of you.”

Belle glared at him. Just because he’d played the music for their dance didn’t give him the right to talk about it. That was _her_ private business! “Your reputation for discretion is undeserved,” she said coldly. “So don’t question mine.”

“The dance was no secret, love,” Mama Bea told her gently.

“It woke everyone in the damned castle,” said Brunhilde.

Belle was getting more embarrassed by the minute. “Fine. I promise that none of this will happen again. Rumple and I won’t be dancing together anyway, but I _still_ won’t tell him I uncovered a mirror, and I’ll never, ever go back down to that cellar.”

“Good,” said Brunhilde, as her body hardened into lifelessness. “That makes things easier for your guard.”

Cogsworth stood up and caught Brunhilde before she could hit the floor. He propped her back up against the wall. Then he gave Belle one last serious look before returning downstairs. “Don’t forget. Mum’s the word.” He put his finger to his lips, nodded, and left.

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak at one time,” said Mama Bea. “Who knew he had it in him?”

Belle sighed. “Well, he’s right. I shouldn’t have uncovered that genie. I never want to see that face again for as long as I live.”

She sipped her tea and let its calming effects wash over her. Soon she was of a mind to really consider all she had seen. It was just like Rumple to place his most fearsome magic near his deepest secrets. But now that she had a hint of them, what was she to do next?

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin was sitting on the outskirts of Camelot, fabricating an unmagical glove to match his new acquisition. Reul Ghorm flew up to him and manifested.

“That,” she declared, “is a thoroughly reprehensible artifact.”

“Which is precisely why it belongs in my collection,” he replied, caressing it. “Legend has it that it was Merlin’s, but the magic is far too Dark for that, as you see. Do you happen to know its origins?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Reul Ghorm. “Take it off. You’re nullifying all Belle’s progress.”

Rumpelstiltskin knew she was right, but the glove fit so perfectly, it might as well have had his name on it. Clearly, it was the work of one of his predecessors, a Dark One of centuries ago.

“I said take it off. We need to talk,” she commanded.

“All right, you pious little know-it-all,” he said, removing the gauntlet. “Say your piece and be gone.”

He didn’t know if Reul Ghorm was studying up on terms like “say your piece,” but she ought to start getting used to them.

When the glove was in his lap, she began. “Be careful with her, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’ve met the Valkyrie. You’ve probably been inside Belle’s quarters, too. I am taking _extra_ special care with her.”

“I was quite impressed,” said Reul Ghorm. “Truly. But even Light Magic can backfire, and yours is particularly unstable.”

“Does she honestly believe I _need_ this reminder?” he thought. There was nothing that terrified him more.

“Even the strongest have weak points,” she continued.

“Ah, yes. How well I remember the weaknesses of the good. The overwhelming sense of responsibility. Guilt over past mistakes and worry over future ones. It’s altogether crippling!”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about her heart. A nature as open as hers makes itself vulnerable.”

“Oh, Lord,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. “Belle’s gone and told her about that fiasco of a dance.”

He refused to hear another moment of this. He put the gauntlet back on and stood up. “You must be an impostor,” he told the fairy. “The real Reul Ghorm would know whose heart is more likely to shatter and whose to mend. I have no time to waste on fakery. Goodbye!”

He transported himself out of Camelot. He was now feeling so bitter and insecure, he decided he was in the perfect mood for calling on Regina. He popped over to her palace. Henry the Henpecked was there to announce him, but he refused to let anyone take his cloak and gloves.

Regina was sitting on her throne. She made everyone else bow to her, even her own father, but she wouldn’t dare demand that of her teacher. Occasionally, Rumpelstiltskin flattered her with a “Your Majesty,” but only when he needed to. This was not one of those times. He’d arrived with other temptations. He removed the gauntlet and tossed it to her.

“King Arthur told me it was Merlin’s. It can point you in the direction of your enemy’s greatest weakness. You may borrow it. . . for a price.”

Regina examined the glove inside and out. “It can locate her greatest weakness but not _her_?”

“That is correct.”

“Then what do I need it for?” she said, tossing it back.

“Regina, you are singularly short-sighted,” he said, putting the gauntlet back on. “Your mother would have killed for a chance to use such a treasure. Of course, your mother would kill for practically anything, so that’s not saying much.”

“Don’t compare me to her!”

“Why not? You’re always doing it.” He noticed Regina’s genie lingering in the mirror behind her. “The offer doesn’t extend to _you_ ,” Rumpelstiltskin told him.

Regina spun around. “Don’t even think about it!” she screamed at the mirror. The genie disappeared.

“Well, look at that,” he giggled. “Your most loyal subject wants to have a go with the gauntlet. Isn’t it funny how love turns into obsession, but obsession sours into hatred?“

Regina’s dark eyes flashed at him. He giggled some more. On to the next subject to taunt her with. “And how’s the crackdown going? From what I hear, Snow is amassing strength every single day. You are familiar with the term ‘crackdown,’ aren’t you? You ought to be studying up, preparing yourself for our journey.”

“I’m up on my jargon, thank you very much. _And_ my American law.”

“Democracy will be _such_ an adjustment for you.”

“What do I care, as long as everyone else suffers with me?”

“That’s the spirit!” he said. What a monster he’d created! It was reassuring to know his plans were proceeding so well. And really, it was nothing to him if she refused the gauntlet. She was so far along the Dark path, his bidding would be done by whatever method she believed herself to be choosing. “Well, let me know if you change your mind about the gauntlet, dearie. And send my love to all your friends!”

He cackled and transported himself home. But once on the grounds, he realized he couldn’t greet Belle in this loathsome state. He decided to work off the tension by exercising with one of the horses. He kept himself and the horse invisible so that Belle would not see them, but it was impossible to hide from Reul Ghorm. She flew right over.

“Redemption is possible for everyone!” she proclaimed.

“So I’ve been told,” he said, slowing the horse down. “What have you come for this time?”

“To continue our discussion,” she said, floating down to his eye level. “And to warn you about that gauntlet. It will only lead to misery.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “So what else is new?”

“Heed my words, Rumpelstiltskin. If you wear that thing in Belle’s presence, you are certain to push her away.”

“I intend to have her clean it for me,” he said, taking it off. “It should make for an interesting experiment, don’t you think? How much Darkness can she undo?”

“Increments, Rumpelstiltskin. You’re asking too much, too fast. She’s only a mortal.”

“Must you find fault with everything? First, my Light Magic will backfire. Then I’m bringing on too much Dark. According to you, we are doomed to failure.”

“On the contrary. We’ll attain balance in the end. But your bad choices are complicating the path.”

“Aha!” he cried. “Reul Ghorm just prophesied success! And that being the case, we will let my choices enter the fray. The achievement will be greater as a result!”

He knew he was in for another sermon about the risks he was taking, so he gave his horse a pat on the back, making it snort as she spoke. Nothing like the sound of a crude beast to finish off a prophecy! He tittered until she flew away.

But even when she was far out of sight, he did not dare to put the gauntlet back on again. He wasn’t _that_ reckless. He could feel the pull it had on him. He would wait until Belle cleaned it. _She_ would transform it, just as she was doing to everything else in the castle.

He dismounted and sent the horse back to the stables. Then he snapped himself indoors. He remained invisible, not yet ready to reveal himself to Belle. He stood and watched while she was gleefully exploring the contents of his cabinets.

“Which curse will she break next?” he wondered.

She scanned his shelves from top to bottom, bypassing some of the realm’s most valuable magical treasures. The Mask of Communion with the Dead, acquired from a sorcerer who preferred the title “witch doctor.” The Urn of Prosperity, so coveted an item that numerous wars had been fought over it. The carved dragon statuette that would summon the Eastern wizard Wu Long. But the Sword of Dingwall was easiest for her to reach, so that is what she seized.

He knew he’d given her permission to do this, but it disturbed him to see her handling weaponry. He’d much rather watch her dispel some Dark Magic. But now he had a use for his own residual Darkness. He went visible and reprimanded her.

“Don’t cut yourself, dearie!” he snarled, making her jump.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send comments. They help me clarify and perfect the story. Thank you


	14. Kidnapped

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” said Regina after Rumpelstiltskin left. “Who’s the cleverest of them all?”

The genie appeared and answered, “Though you have mastered the Dark One’s arts, his current maid has far more smarts.”

“What?” screamed Regina. “He’s got a new student? A lowly maid?”

“It appears so, Your Majesty. She’s quite pretty, too. . . if you like those sweet and demure types. But she has none of Your Majesty’s allure.”

“Oh, shut up!” said Regina.

She had been sweet and demure herself once, back before she began studying with Rumple. Daddy was a constant reminder of it. His doleful eyes were always begging her to go back to who she used to be. Did the genie actually believe she couldn’t see through his bosh? 

She looked past the trapped image of her pathetic prisoner and gazed at her own reflection. Her crown and jewelry glinted back at her. They were hardly worth the price she paid, but she was damned if she was going to let herself lose even an inch of status. She’d keep the throne from Snow White, and she’d remain Rumple’s star pupil. Which meant that now she had yet another rival to get rid of.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she yelled at the genie. “Go back to his castle and see what else you can find out!”

The genie disappeared.

“Sweet and demure,” she muttered resentfully. She watched her reflection morph into a younger image of herself. She was wearing her favorite blue riding habit. The sight of it brought tears to her eyes. She turned away from the mirror.

“A kidnapping is in order,” she decided impulsively. If Rumple was lusting for this girl, she might be valuable as leverage. “And I don’t need a stupid glove to figure _that_ out either!” she shouted, even though she was all alone.

She sat down and tried to plan. Her dungeon was full of Snow’s loyalists, but pulling this off was another matter. She’d never gone up against Rumple before. Sure, she’d pocketed a few potion ingredients here and there, but he’d never miss those. This was a woman. Reportedly a clever one. And if there was one thing that could tempt Rumple, it was a woman with brains.

Regina felt like conjuring up a rock and throwing it at her own mirror. Was _everyone_ in the realm finding love, even that grotesque imp? Was she really fated to be the only person in Fairy Land who’d be deprived of a happy ending? 

“Maleficent is here,” announced Daddy.

Regina rolled her eyes. “So send her to my lounge. She’s my intimate friend. Don’t treat her like an ordinary subject.”

Daddy scurried away, and Regina immediately regretted her tone. He was probably the only person in all the realms who still loved her. She didn’t like berating him the way she did everyone else, but it had become such an ingrained habit, she couldn’t seem to stop. It was like that parable the huntsman told her. A tame wolf and a savage wolf were battling inside her. And the savage was winning because that was the one she fed. 

She snapped herself into her lounge.

“Darling!” cried Maleficent, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek, one of those phony rituals she’d picked up from Cruella DeVil. “You’re looking as fiery as ever. What’s gotten into you now?”

Daddy entered with a tea tray. He poured and served as she and her guest made themselves comfortable on the divan.

“It’s Rumple, the filthy hypocrite! He’s got a new wench in his castle!”

“Well, what of it? Don’t tell me you’re jealous!”

“Jealous?” said Regina, trying to chuckle. “Please!”

Daddy was looking at her with far too much concern. “That will be all,” she told him stiffly.

Oh, how she despised herself! The hurt in his eyes was too much to take.

“Men!” said Maleficent when he left. “They all have the same weakness. Even the Dark One.”

“What gets to me,” said Regina, “is that he’s the one who put me on the path of destroying all the love in the realm. How dare he keep a little for himself on the sly?”

“Well, it’s not like you can do anything about it. He _is_ the Dark One, after all.” 

“Actually, I was thinking of a kidnapping.”

Maleficent gasped. Then she grinned. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? It’s just a matter of hiring the right people.” She was thinking of the huntsman. It was right up his alley, after he finished off Snow.

“Should I mention it to Cruella?” suggested Maleficent.

Regina let out a derisive laugh. “That drunken has-been? What can she do? Control animals? Big deal!”

“Teamwork gets things done.”

“You poor dear,” said Regina, putting her hand on top of Maleficent’s. “Don’t you see? You’re on the wrong team. _She_ gives the orders, and you and Ursula do the heavy lifting. I don’t know why you put up with it.”

But Regina did know. It was easy enough to understand. Maleficent, and for that matter, Ursula, had lost key powers in battle. Now they were so lacking in confidence, they’d settle for any old coven. The same could happen to her if she wasn’t careful. That’s why she had to be so mean, even to Daddy. She had to keep up her edge.

Maleficent pulled her hand away. “I’ll bet we can pull off a test run for you. Then you’ll know how high a ransom he’s willing to pay.”

Regina had to hand it to Maleficent. It was a deliciously devious idea. And no skin off her back either. Let Cruella run all the risks.

“Hmm. Well, interestingly enough, he _was_ just showing off his latest acquisition from Camelot. Merlin’s gauntlet.”

Dropping the name of the illustrious sorcerer had the desired effect. Regina knew better than to take the bait when Rumple dangled it in front of her, but Maleficent couldn’t resist. Her eyes were veritably dancing with greed. “What does it _do_?”

“It can point you in the direction of anyone’s greatest weakness.”

Maleficent’s wicked grin grew wider. She was picturing her comeback already. “We could use our familiars to break into the castle.”

“Ingenious,” said Regina.

And wholly unnecessary. Entering Rumple’s property wasn’t all that difficult. He always left openings for anyone seeking a deal. But anyone hoping to outsmart him had better be well prepared or they were kidding themselves.

Maleficent cackled. “I can hardly wait to tell the others! I’ll give you the full report when we succeed. See you, darling!” She gave Regina a hurried kiss and vanished.

“She barely drank her tea,” thought Regina, disappointed to see her one and only friend leave so soon. Such was the life of a villain! No congeniality, no loyalty. The best she could hope for were self-interested partners willing to join in on her evil schemes.

At least her first gambit was falling into place. To her calculation, it was a win-win scenario. If Rumple refused to pay the ransom and the coven disposed of the girl, no more pesky little rival. And if he _was_ willing to part with Merlin’s gauntlet in exchange for her, that proved she was a valuable pawn worth capturing later on.

Unlike Maleficent, Regina wasn’t after anything as trivial as ransom. She wanted triumph, the sublime pleasure of beating Rumple at his own game. She understood the inner workings of his dastardly mind better than anyone. “We’ll see who’s short-sighted now!” she laughed.

She snapped herself into the tower. The beginning of the caper was underway. The middle was still a mystery. But she knew exactly what the ending should look like. No ordinary jail for Rumple’s sweet new pupil. This prisoner would require some extra-thick blocking enchantments.

“Squid ink!” called Regina, transporting her full supply out of her brewing room. She sprinkled it all over the walls. With a few additional coatings, Rumple would be weakened to the point of paralysis. But the real craft would go into the emotional barricade. And for that, all she had to do was plumb her own bottomless well of despair.

She envisioned her younger self again, that innocent in the blue riding habit. With the image firmly in mind, she launched into her tirade.

“Your beloved is dead, and it’s all your fault! You trusted when you shouldn’t have, and now the most precious person you’ve ever known is gone forever!”

The tears began streaming down her cheeks. She conjured two vials to catch them and splatter them around the room.

“How could you be so stupid?” she continued. “After all the evil you’ve seen! You’d just better hope the pain was over quick!”

Regina’s insides wrenched as she remembered Daniel’s final moment. It certainly looked like agony, with him choking out his last breaths as Mother crushed that gentle heart of his into dust. She collapsed on the floor sobbing. And yet the capable witch in her remained in command. She conjured up a paintbrush to spread her falling tears. Not a drop would go to waste.

“Your fault! Your fault! How can you live with yourself?”

Crouched on the floor, she sobbed harder.

“Regina?” came Daddy’s timid voice at the door.

“Not now!” she shouted, shoving him out of the way with a transport spell. 

“Everything that’s good and true in your life, you destroy! You deserve your loneliness, you evil wretch!”

How much longer could she bear it? She achieved all Mother’s ambitions: power and riches. What shabby substitutes for love!

Exhausted from the strain she was putting herself under, Regina paused to survey her work. If she took the time to paint the room with her tears every day, she might succeed in more than just repelling Rumple. She might deceive him into thinking the girl was dead! And if the maid was as brainy as the genie said, then Rumple was keeping her around for more than good, old earthly lust. He had to be grooming her for some sort of elaborate intrigue. Perhaps he was even considering her as an alternate to cast the Curse. There wasn’t a chance in hell Regina would let him get away with _that_! Storybrooke was _hers_!

Her rage was mounting, replacing her melancholy. Regina swiftly snapped herself out of the tower. The cell was meant to take the fight out of Rumple, not rile him up. She had to apply her emotions with the discrimination of an artist mixing colors on his palette.

Standing in front of her mirror again, she retouched her make-up, and then called the genie back from reconnaissance. “Mirror, mirror, to your Queen! Come and tell me all you’ve seen!”

The genie appeared in the mirror, but he did not answer the usual way. “Nothing, Your Majesty. The Dark One’s mirrors are covered again.”

“So go back there and wait till they’re uncovered. Next time I call you, you’d better have something useful!”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The genie disappeared. Regina knew she was sending him on a fool’s errand. He’d gotten through once, but it was probably just a fluke. She’d have to rely on Maleficent and her coven instead. But were they really up to snuff?

“So many things could go wrong,” she realized as the first blush of doubt set in. Rumple might get the better of all three of them. Or worse, trace the plot back to her.

She could just imagine him mocking her before he took his revenge. “You call _that_ strategy, Regina?”

“I have plausible deniability,” she assured herself. The futuristic term pleased her. “I have a kingdom to run! Why would I bother myself with _his_ petty domestic affairs?”

Of course, she _would_ bother if the girl was meant as her replacement.

This dithering and doubt was doing her no good. She aimed all her inner tumult into a cloud over a farming village known to have recently harbored Snow. It swirled into a devastating tornado.

“Hah! That’ll show them!” she gloated.

She’d show Rumple, too. Whatever happened, she’d continue adding to the cell in the tower. It was shaping up to be one of her most inspired creations. Somehow or other, she _would_ turn the tables on him, and when she did, his torture chamber would be ready and waiting.

* * *

It never failed. Whenever Rumple returned from outside, he reverted to his old, dark habits. Belle hated it. He nearly made her jump out of her skin, he startled her so badly. But what irked her more was when he began chastising her for “playing with his toys.” He’d given her his express permission to look around!

“Oh, I lied!” he said dismissively, as if changing his tune after the fact were somehow fair. “I wanted to see how the mouse would play while the cat was away. And the mouse has done very little cleaning.”

He ran his finger down the table and showed her the dust she’d neglected in his absence. Then he got even ruder, calling her “the help,” and reminding her that he could always get worse. She knew he had a point about the dusting, but she wasn’t going to stand for his bluster. She called him on it.

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it long ago.”

He bared his teeth at her as though he were an animal ready to attack, but she could detect the softness behind his snakelike eyes.

“How was your trip to Camelot?”

He dropped the threats and answered her. “Good for me, not so good for Camelot.”

He cast a transport spell for an object. It produced the usual puff of purple smoke, and when it cleared, he was holding what looked like a glove from a suit of armor. “A souvenir,” he said, handing it to her. “Clean it for me, will you?”

“What is it?” she asked, looking it over and tapping its fingers. It didn’t seem terribly dirty, but something about it made her jittery.

“It’s a magic gauntlet with a very specific power,” he explained. “It can locate anyone’s greatest weakness.”

That accounted for the eerie feeling. “How ominous.” Perhaps she might talk him into getting rid of it. “Why do you need this? With all your power, you could destroy any foe.”

“If you must know, it’s about manipulation,” he said, gesturing grandiloquently. “For that, you must find one’s weakness, and for almost everyone, that weakness is the thing they love most. This will simply point me in the right direction.” He finished off by theatrically pointing his own finger into the air.

His eccentric gracefulness always distracted her, but she forced herself to ignore it. What he was saying was terrible! “Who do you intend to manipulate?” she asked.

“Questions, always questions. I have no immediate plans. Just clean it before I put it in storage.”

“In your vault?” she asked. If he admitted it belonged down there, that meant it was genuinely dangerous. 

“I see that I shall never need to use it on _you_. You flaunt your weakness like you’re proud of it.” He spat it out like an accusation. “Curiosity!”

She jumped off the table, looked him straight in the eye, and with her hands on her hips, retorted, “I _am_ proud of my curiosity. It means that the thing I love most is learning.”

“Well then, here’s a lesson in armor maintenance.” He waved two bottles onto the table. “Linseed oil for the leather, wax polish for the metal. Use dry rags only. I don’t want any rust.”

Belle knew there was nothing more she could say. She only hoped he was telling the truth about not having any immediate plans. But even if he didn’t now, that could easily change.

“At least it’s not a kidnapped child,” she thought, pouring the linseed oil onto her rag. “Nobody’s life is at stake.” She had to let the argument drop. . . for now.

He sat down at his wheel and began spinning while she worked. Belle kept her back to him most of the time, but she knew he was watching her. He almost always did when they were working alongside one another, but she felt an added sense of anticipation from him now, as though he were waiting for her to trigger some of the gauntlet’s magic. The only thing that happened was that she got so bored after a while, her premonition faded and her mind began wandering. “Where would this thing point me if I wanted to know about _him_?” she wondered. “Who or what does he love most?”

The answer came to her right away. She didn’t need the gauntlet to tell her. His greatest weakness, and no doubt his deepest love, was hidden in that one-room cottage with the trundle bed and the little boy’s clothes.

She looked over at him pityingly. “I must get him to share,” she thought, “like he did about his mother.”

“It looks like you’ve finished,” he said, magically pulling the gauntlet back to himself. He inspected it, nodded approvingly, and transported it away. “Thank you, Belle. Now, how about some tea?” He got up from his wheel and took his usual place at the head of the table.

“His darkness is receding,” she thought. She felt it in his “thank you,” but it was even lighter in her name. Here was a moment she might use to make some inroads. When he conjured the tea set, she served from him in the chipped cup. She let him take a long sip, and [then ventured](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5GRW79X-0s), “I’ve figured out why you collect so many objects. You have a hole in your heart.” She hoped her phrasing was just indirect enough to get him talking.

“There’s only one thing missing in my life right now,” he said. “Clean clothes.” And without further word of warning, he snapped her out to the clothesline.

She swayed forward, catching her balance. It was the first time she’d ever been transported anywhere without having him to hold onto. Then she noticed he sent her out in her cloak. It was as though he were saying, “Get out and stay out.”

“You’re just upset because you know I’m right,” she grumbled, knowing full well he was listening. She began pinning up the laundry.

“Fine, so I’ll get some fresh air,” she thought to herself. “After the laundry’s hung, I’ll explore the grounds. Just like he said I could explore his castle.”

The laundry basket was full, though. She had plenty of work to do. But when she went to the basket for the next piece of clothing, a squeaky little whimper caught her attention. She followed the sound, and there, sitting between the drying sheets, was a cute, spotted puppy.

How could she stay angry with a puppy to cheer her up? Was this Rumple’s secret dog, the one whose leash was hanging in the cottage? She abandoned the laundry and cooed to the dog. She tried giving it her hand to sniff, but it wanted to run and play instead, so she followed it as it frolicked around, ducking behind the sheets and gamboling past the firepit. It disappeared into the woods.

“Where _did_ you go?” she asked aloud.

She stood there, wavering between wanting to track down the dog and knowing she should get back to work, when someone unexpectedly grabbed her from behind. It was a woman, quite tall, wearing oversweet perfume that barely masked the alcohol on her breath. She covered Belle’s mouth with her silky gloves.

“RMPL!” Belle called.

The next thing she knew, she was floating in the smoky cloud of a transport spell. “I’ve been captured by a witch!” she realized.

The witch landed them inside a cave. It was impossible to know how far they'd traveled, but wherever they were, it was near the seashore. There was an ocean breeze in the air and sand beneath their feet.

The spotted puppy was there, too. “Patch, come!” the tall witch commanded. The dog leapt toward its mistress, but instead of settling at her feet, it transformed mid-air and became a fur wrap for her shoulders.

“Ugh,” thought Belle. Yet as disgusted as she was at the witch who’d wear her own pet, she was more disgusted with herself. “Rumple was right. Look where my curiosity led me.” For once, she was glad he was eavesdropping. She hoped he heard her muffled cry at the edge of the woods. And in case he didn’t, she sent a prayer up to Blue.

“So this is the new wench,” said a second witch, coming out from the shadows. She was wearing a horned helmet similar to Brunhilde’s, but Belle knew she was not a Valkyrie. It was the notorious Maleficent, who terrorized the realm when her mother was young. When the history books said she was defeated, Belle assumed she’d been killed, but apparently, she was only in hiding.

“Pretty,” came the voice of a third witch. “She ought to fetch a good ransom.”

The third witch was the most horrifying of all. Her human body had muscular tentacles growing out of it. There was no mistaking who this was: Ursula the Sea Witch, dreaded scourge of maritime legend and lore. Her tentacles were even scarier in person than they were in pictures.

“Go ahead,” commanded the tall, fur-draped witch. “Tie her up.”

Slimy vines twisted around Belle’s wrists. She struggled to break free, but it was no use. They were tied too tight.

The tall witch stood over Belle menacingly. “Now, do as you’re told, and you won’t get hurt.” She levitated a seashell. “Talk to the seashell as if you’re talking to the Dark One. Tell him if he wants to see you alive again, he will meet us at Demon’s Bluff at midnight with the magical gauntlet from Camelot.”

Belle didn’t dare ask how they knew about it. All she wanted was to get out of there. So she did as they said. She looked straight into the seashell and repeated all their directions. When she finished, one of the Sea Witch’s tentacles slithered around her ankle and squeezed.

“Rumple, help!” she cried.

The tall witch gave a deep-throated snicker and a single loud clap. The seashell toppled onto the sand below. “Nice touch,” she said to the Sea Witch. Then she nodded to Maleficent. “All right. Your turn.”

Maleficent pounded her staff in the sand, and a raven flew down onto it. She lifted her hand and the seashell floated into the raven’s beak. Then she waved the raven away, presumably sending it off to Rumple.

“Now I must wait till midnight,” thought Belle. It was late afternoon. She had hours to go. What would they do with her in all that time? One thing she knew: she could not cry. It wasn’t just a matter of not showing them her fear. She’d seen Rumple drink her tears and claim they were medicinal. She couldn’t let any of her tears get mixed into _their_ potions.

Within minutes, the skies around them darkened. Belle’s heart fluttered expectantly. “He sped up time! And I’m the only one who noticed!”

In the very next instant, she heard [Rumple’s voice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDiEg-DlT7Y) outside the cave. But when she was pushed out to him, she realized it was too soon to rejoice. She was not out of danger yet. It was clear a fight was brewing. And there she was, standing right in the middle, not sure whether she’d come out of it alive.

Maleficent showed herself first, manifesting in a whole whirlwind of ravens. She repeated the witches’ demand. “Give us the gauntlet, and you can have your wench back.”

Rumple wasn’t giving in. “Seeing as you asked so nicely,” he said with syrupy sarcasm. Then he levitated Maleficent and suspended her in the air until she was choking under his magic clutch.

This was nothing like the chase after Robin Hood or the confrontation with the Black Fairy. This is what Rumple looked like when he truly meant to kill. “You think you can steal from the Dark One and live? Fatal mistake, dearie! Any last words?”

“I -- am not -- alone,” gasped Maleficent. And then, very weakly, she began to laugh. She was not afraid. She trusted her accomplices to save her.

Ursula made her showing next. Her tentacles came slinking out of the cave. One encircled Belle’s neck, and another restrained her arms. Belle could still breathe, but she knew she was one squeeze away from death.

“I’m here,” Blue whispered. Belle heard the voice in her mind, but she felt the presence in the crystal. Blue was pushing back against Ursula with all her strength.

Last, the tall witch came out of the cave. She taunted Rumple, who taunted her right back. He was trying to find a way to have it all: to keep his gauntlet, to save her, and to punish the three witches. Belle listened to their caustic repartee until the tall witch gave the deadly order.

“Ursula, darling, crush the maid’s heart!”

Ursula squeezed until Belle could no longer breathe. Her throat was searing with pain. Everything around her was spinning – Rumple, the ocean, the witches, the cave. At first, she was terrified, but then something inside her decided to just give in to the inevitable.

“I’ll join Mother now,” she thought. “And Father will be spared from knowing that I died.”

The world was going black around her. Belle barely knew what was happening, but she saw when Rumple tossed the gauntlet over her head. Ursula released her, and she staggered into his arms. Never had she felt such a rush of relief and safety! Still dizzy and taking great gulps of that precious salty ocean air, she tried to thank him, but it came out all wrong.

“Why would you do that with that object?”

“They still won’t be able to harm you!” he cried, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders.

His strong, steadying grasp, coupled with his ardent concern, made her insides tingle. All she wanted to do was bury her head in his chest and say, “Take care of me, Rumple,” but it came out as, “Why do you care about me?”

What a bunch of incoherent blather! She sounded ungrateful, the very opposite of how she felt. Why couldn’t her mouth catch up with her brain? She knew what she meant to say. “Let’s go home.” It was so simple.

Except it _wasn’t_ simple. Because his home had become hers now. It was no longer the prison she’d agreed to go to while under duress. She’d grown to love their life together. She knew it the minute she was thrust into his arms. She was even growing to love _him_. It was confusing, even a bit frightening, but it was the truth. She wanted nothing more than to lean on his shoulders as he transported them back to the castle, and to remain there afterward, just to prolong the pleasure of having him near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line "Why do you care about me?" was one of my least favorite in the series. It was such a mismatch with "You're not who I thought you were," after he gave her the library. Giving it a new interpretation was one of my main motivations in writing this fanfic.


	15. Her Handsomest Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that convinced me to raise my story's rating from General to Teen, but this is sort of the opposite of a trigger warning. It's an apology for all those people who'll think I should have gone hotter. Sorry, folks, but I don't write smut.

“Why do you care about me?”

She looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes, so trusting and full of gratitude, and his hard, dark heart melted. All he wanted to do was to pull her close and kiss her right then and there.

He had to get a hold of himself. Those hags had her tied up in their cave. They almost killed her. Should he top it all off with his monstrous kiss?

He pushed her away and blurted out the first stupid thing that came to mind. “I don’t! It’s just that if anyone’s going to crush your heart. . . it’s going to be me.”

He regretted it the minute he said it, but he didn’t how else to act. She needed a hero, and he was nothing but a villain.

“No more gruffness or you’ll scare her,” he rebuked himself. “But don’t repulse her with your sloppy mush, either.”

The strategy didn’t leave him a whole lot of wiggle room. He must get her back to the castle, make a better check for injuries, and somehow, hide his feelings. Keep it cold and clinical. Save the excess emotion to fuel his spells.

“Ready to transport?” he asked, not even offering his hand. She’d done it enough times that she didn’t need him to hold onto anymore. She nodded, and in the next second, he had them standing outside the locked door of her bedroom.

“You must wash yourself off right away,” he told her. “The Sea Witch had her tentacles all over you. If she left even the smallest trace of venom, I want it removed now. But first, let me see your wrists.”

She held them up. No bleeding, but her skin was marred with harsh red gashes. He let his hands fill up with the warmth of a healing spell and slowly passed them over the wounds.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as her flesh was restored. It nearly broke his resolve all over again. Even without touching her, the magical contact with her body felt more intimate than the closeness of their dance. And everything in her thanks reverberated with how much she liked it. 

“Don’t misinterpret!” he told himself. “You relieved her pain, that’s all. It would feel good to anybody.”

He turned his back on her and leaned his face against her door. He needed to make some temporary adjustments to her bedroom.

“Three hags tortured her,” he thought. “She will have three maids to comfort her. Mrs. Potts, Brunhilde, and Madame Wardrobe.”

He narrowed his focus to Brunhilde, empowering her with the whole mess of emotions running through him. “Special instructions,” he thought at her, “Fulfill all Belle’s wishes. Give her every pleasure you can think of. Eliminate every bit of pain and fear. And use an extra gentle touch.”

How he envied Brunhilde! He wished he could do that part himself.

Next, the bath. Warm water, scented with rose petals. His mind suddenly went straying where he knew it shouldn’t. He filled the tub with concealing soap bubbles. His eyes stung and burned. He flinched, but continued casting the spell.

Now to the bed. Fluff the pillows, widen the mattress. . . with room enough for two.

“Get out of her bed, you beast!”

A canopy. That was a safer thought. Weaved from the surfeit of white lace he’d been working on. Leave the night table as is, stacked with whatever books she’s in the middle of reading.

Now the room was ready. He turned around to face Belle.

“Rumple! Your eyes!”

He must look even uglier than usual. Were his eyes a ghastly white or just freakishly bloodshot? He supposed it didn’t matter, just as long as she didn’t worry about it. “My eyesight was the price of the enchantment,” he explained. “The effect will only last as long as the spell does. Now, go in there and let the maids take care of you. No, wait - one more thing.”

He snapped his fingers, and her crystal necklace unclasped and jumped into his hand.

“Hey!” she protested. “My mother gave me that! I _never_ take it off.”

“You will now, and you won’t argue. It has to be purified. Just do as I say! Go in there and follow instructions!”

* * *

Belle did not know exactly what to expect when she opened the door to her room. Rumple was always unpredictable, but he was really swinging between extremes tonight. The witches seemed to have scared him even more than they did her. It was wonderfully flattering. She forgave him immediately for pushing her away and speaking so roughly. She knew he didn’t mean it. Every spell he was casting, from the feather-light transport to the soothing, magical heat of his healing hands, was saying just the opposite. All of it felt like a loving caress.

The new room was exquisite, every bit as spectacular as her library, except while one was full of intellectual pleasures, this was full of sensual ones. A pretty new canopy over a much wider bed. A vanity table in the corner where Mama Bea was keeping her tea warm. A bubble bath, with Brunhilde standing with a towel at the tub, just like her maid back home. The only thing that didn’t quite fit were the wash basins she used for the laundry. They were sitting beside her wardrobe, who was now half-human.

“Mademoiselle,” said the wardrobe, curtsying awkwardly.

Brunhilde curtsied, too. “Oh, my dear,” she said, walking over and removing her cloak. “Did those hags hurt you very badly?”

“I’m fine now,” Belle answered.

Her cloak floated off to the wash basin and plunged itself into the water. The wardrobe waddled over and began scrubbing it. Meanwhile, Brunhilde continued helping her undress. One by one, each item removed joined the rest of her clothes in the basin.

“Come,” said Brunhilde, offering her hand so that Belle could step into the tub without slipping. Belle was embarrassed, but she took it.

“I never used to like being fussed over this way when I was a princess,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s not like I’m Queen Guinevere. But right now, all I want to do is surrender to it.”

“You go right ahead, sweetheart,” said Brunhilde. Belle slid into sitting position in the tub, and Brunhilde began massaging her neck. “How’s that?”

“Mmmmm,” said Belle.

She closed her eyes, emptied her mind, and let herself be carried off into the luxury of the bubble bath. It lasted a few glorious minutes, but then the wardrobe began humming a tune that broke her reverie. Belle looked up and noticed that the side of the wash basin was rigged up with tubes, and the tubes were filling with bright green liquid. It had the same iridescent tint as Ursula’s tentacles.

Belle shivered as a wave of panic went through her. That was the venom Rumple was talking about! Was it all over her skin, too? She looked over at the side of the tub and saw the same rigging there, filling up with the same green liquid.

As much as she was enjoying her soak in the tub, now Belle didn’t want to stay there anymore. She submerged herself under the water, and the bubbles disappeared. The water turned clear, and she stood up, fully rinsed. Brunhilde was ready with a towel.

“Finished already?” asked the wardrobe. “Très bien!”

Her top drawer opened and a starched white nightgown sailed over. Brunhilde caught it and helped Belle put it on. Next came a bathrobe and slippers. Then Mama Bea called her over to the vanity table.

“Come have some tea, love. It’s peppermint, your favorite!”

Belle sat down at the table. Brunhilde began massaging her neck again. “You’ve nothing to worry about,” she said softly. “We’re taking care of everything. Just relax.”

Poisonous green liquid aside, it was easy to relax under Brunhilde’s expert touch. The massage lasted a few minutes longer, and then Brunhilde picked up a comb and began running it through Belle’s hair.

“You do that even better than my maid back home,” Belle told her. “I can’t feel a single tug.”

Brunhilde beamed with pride.

Belle sat there and let her mind wander to pleasant things, but then another detail of the room caught her eye. The vanity had a mirror, the first uncovered mirror she’d seen in Rumple’s castle. And it wasn’t just any mirror, either. It was the Mirror of Souls. She would have recognized it anywhere. What a fool she’d been, thinking the genie’s mirror was the same. But of all times, why did Rumple see fit to give this back now?

“C’mon, love, don’t let your tea get cold,” Mama Bea urged her.

The chipped cup was on the tea tray. “I’m sorry,” it said as Belle took her first sip. She hadn’t heard it speak out loud since the day she first dropped it, but this time, it wasn’t speaking in her voice. It spoke in Rumple’s.

Now her serenity was completely broken. She knew Rumple was trying to make her feel better, but she couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Everything else was perfect, so what was he apologizing for?

“Rumpelstiltskin, what did you put in that tea?” she demanded. “You’d better not be trying to erase my memories! Because no matter how bad this night was, I don’t want my mind altered!”

She was looking at the cup, expecting him to answer through it, but he appeared in the Mirror instead. His eyes were still clouded over. She could see him, but he could not see her.

“It’s just a potion for sweet dreams, Belle. Poppy nectar to suppress nightmares, and a dash of stardust to simulate wish fulfillment. A standard blend. I’m not playing any tricks on you. I promise.”

 _I promise_. The words lodged themselves in her heart more powerfully than any “thank you” or “I’m sorry.” She knew with absolute conviction that he was telling the truth.

“Do you trust me?” he asked anxiously. “Will you drink it?”

She appreciated that he didn’t compel her with a “please.”

“Yes, Rumple, I trust you. I’ll drink the whole thing.” She picked up the cup and drained it.

“Empty, sir,” reported Mama Bea. “I’ll vouch for it.”

“Good,” he said, as a smile lit up his face. 

Belle stared at the Mirror in amazement. Rumple was transforming! Though his eyes remained sightless, his green skin was fading into normal, human flesh. He even had a golden glow around him, just she imagined he looked when he rode onto the battlefield to end the First Ogres War. He was the handsomest hero Belle had ever seen.

“Good night, Belle!”

He disappeared immediately, and she was disappointed. Now there was nothing but her own reflection in the Mirror. Only a flicker of him lingered. . .on Brunhilde. 

Belle shook her head. “Was that the Mirror or the potion?” she wondered aloud.

“If you’re seeing things in that mirror, then it’s definitely the potion,” said Brunhilde. “I was standing here the whole time, and all I saw was you.” She slipped her arms under Belle’s. “Now, up you get!”

Brunhilde gently pulled her to her feet, and because she was suddenly so drowsy, she didn’t resist. Brunhilde led her to her bed and leaned over her as she lay down, her bosoms lightly brushing across Belle’s. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Umm, no,” said Belle, as queer and confusing urges stirred in her.

“Wake me if you change your mind,” said Brunhilde. She leaned back against the wall and turned back to a broom.

Belle propped herself up to look around. Mama Bea and the wardrobe were as inanimate as Brunhilde. And the mirror was covered. As much as she wanted to see golden Rumple the Hero again, she was too sleepy to call him, and she knew he wanted her to get some rest. 

She lay back on the soft pillows, admiring her lacy new canopy bed. It smelled of roses, just like her bath. It was a lovely end to a horrible day.

Belle closed her eyes and let the potion take effect. As she drifted off to sleep, one image carried her into her dreams: standing on the beach in Rumple’s arms. Except in her dreams, he didn’t push her away. He pulled her close and kissed her, and when he stopped, he was transformed into the hero in the Mirror. Then a white horse appeared, and they rode on it together, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, one minute on Father’s grounds, and the next beside the clothesline. It was all a jumble after that, but it didn’t matter. Belle was just happy. She was safe, sound, and strangely exhilarated to be in Rumple’s warm embrace.

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin knew Belle was sound asleep the moment his eyesight was restored. He’d snapped himself up to the brewing room to wait out the spell, and the vials of venom followed him there. But even now that he could see what he’d collected, he was in no mood to work with it. He was still under the heady glow of talking to Belle through the Mirror of Souls. The charm made him understand why Regina’s genie cursed himself into a mirror. There was something to be said for forever gazing into the face of one’s beloved, especially when that love would never be returned.

“Stay focused!” he told himself. “Use the Light while it’s still on you.”

He summoned Reul Ghorm. She came right away.

“I did my best to shield her through the crystal.”

“I know,” he said. “It absorbed quite a bit of her pain. The whole ordeal could have been so much worse. But I leave the purification to you.”

She nodded, picked up the necklace, and held it over the vials of venom. She squeezed the crystal until green droplets drizzled out of it. But purging the Sea Witch’s taint was the easy part. The real work would be in expelling Belle’s own trauma.

Reul Ghorm put on the necklace, closed her eyes and pressed the crystal against her chest. “No more pain,” she whispered.

Belle’s unvoiced screams pierced the air. Rumpelstiltskin clamped his hands over his ears. “Oh, G-d!” he cried.

The raw plea worked. Belle’s screams went silent and manifested as a thick liquid, acrid in smell, garish in color. With a flick of his wrist, Rumple pushed it all into his cauldron. He poured in the venom, too, and then lit a fire under the mix.

Reul Ghorm looked over at the cauldron with distaste, but let it pass. The justice in it was undeniable. And punishment was _his_ purview, not hers.

“No more fear.”

Belle’s fear didn’t manifest as a sound, but as a chill wind. With a snap, Rumpelstiltskin brought Pandora’s Box over from his rear shelf. He held it open, and it sucked the cold air into itself like a vortex. When he slammed the cover shut, its walls caked with ice.

“No more despair.”

Once again, Belle’s voice filled the room, but this time, she was sobbing, not screaming. Only two words were intelligible. “Mama” and “Papa.”

Reul Ghorm looked over at him accusingly. “The least you could do is let her write home.”

“I will,” promised Rumpelstitlskin hastily. “Now rededicate it, or whatever it is you call what you do.”

“How about a little reverence? If not for me, at least for the mission.”

“I _always_ have reverence for the mission.”

“Then show it. We are going back to the day I first blessed it.”

She took off the necklace and held it in the air. Even though it was well past midnight in the rest of the castle, golden sunlight flooded the room. She conjured a Dreamcatcher, held it to her head, and let Rumpelstiltskin watch the misty sights and sounds of her memory displaying themselves on its round frame.

“She has a unique potential,” Reul Ghorm was telling Colette. “She will be a beacon of peace in this realm and beyond, but it is a fraught path. She will face many challenges. I bless her with courage, wisdom, and success. Her loving heart will always be her guide. You should be very proud.”

A single tear rolled down Colette’s cheek “I am. So proud. . . and so awed.” 

Rumpelstiltskin was awed, too. For a moment, he felt like he contained nothing but Light.

Reul Ghorm smiled, and let her memory dissolve into the diffuse golden light. It flowed from the Dreamcatcher into the crystal, where it was completely absorbed, just like Pandora’s Box absorbed Belle’s fear.

“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction **,”** said Rumpelstiltskin **.**

 **“** Excuse me?” said Reul Ghorm.

“Physics. Really, you ought to study up on science some time. Its principles parallel ours.”

Reul Ghorm made no comment to this. “I will return the necklace to Belle when she wakes up.”

“Before you do. . .” He reached over, and careful to avoid the crystal, touched the chain it was hanging on. Though he was still under the impression of the Light magic, all he had to do was recall Belle’s screams and there was enough Darkness in him to send a charge of electric current through it.

“What have you done?”

“Added a deterrent. Nobody can take it from her now. Not without hurting themselves anyway. Objections?”

He knew she wouldn’t have any, just as she said nothing to the potion he was brewing. Those harpies brought it on themselves.

“So now you’ll go after them,” she said.

His Darkness surged in him with the shock of a lightning bolt. “Damned right!” He sent three empty vials to the cauldron to fill themselves with the noxious concoction. He stoppered them, and they floated into his inner pocket. “On top of Belle’s suffering, which is reason enough, I’m certainly not leaving the gauntlet in _their_ hands!”

“If you had left it in Camelot, none of this would have happened.”

The last glimmers of his Light blinked out. “Belle and I are transforming it!” he shouted. “It’s a changed object now! It has been sacrificed for love!”

“But what if your love is the next sacrifice? Are you really willing to take that risk?”

Sparks of his anger exploded around them. That was way too low a blow.

“That relic needs to be destroyed, not renewed,” she continued. “You’re endangering Belle, the mission, and of course, yourself. Love may have the power to redeem you, but not if you corrupt yourself beyond reach. You said yourself that the Darkness in that gauntlet is even older and stronger than your own.” 

She and her endless lectures! Well, two could play at that game. If she was going to preach to him, he would take his leave of her with a song.

_The Darkness of the world is mine,_

_in covens, lairs, and heathen shrines._

_Who or what thrives there must answer_

_to this impish necromancer._

_Each soul or object I collect_

_will serve the just aim I select._

_A Valkyrie now stands as guard_

_o’er the princess whose life she scarred._

_The gauntlet I will change as well,_

_repurposing its heinous spells._

_For I know Dark as no one does._

_Its uses are for me to judge._

_I control ogres, queens, and kings,_

_capture evil and clip its wings._

_So I will gather all I can_

_till Belle and Bae redeem this man._


	16. Due Compensation

Armed with Pandora’s Box and three vials of potion, Rumpelstiltskin landed in Demon’s Bluff, but he did not go visible immediately. He hovered around listening to the coven bickering over the gauntlet.

“What’s taking so long, Maleficent?” nagged Cruella.

“If you think breaking through the Dark One’s protections is easy, then why don’t you lend a hand?”

“You know that’s not my specialty, darling. But do speed it up. Remember: _I_ get first use.”

“How is that fair? _I’m_ the one breaking the spell.”

“But I’m the one who risked her neck by entering the Dark One’s property.”

“So what?” said Ursula. “It took _my_ tentacles to scare the hell out of him. I should get first use.”

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. These three were so predictable. “Trouble in paradise, ladies?”

They heard him, but they could not see him. Alarmed, they looked around in every direction, ready to strike if they could only figure out where. Maleficent transported the gauntlet out of his sight. But Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t worried. First things first.

He opened the flap of his jacket, and the vials drifted out, each one positioning itself over a different witch’s head. With a snap of his fingers, he uncorked the vials, and his specially crafted cocktail splattered all over them.

“What horror have you doused us with?” Cruella shrieked.

“Oh, just a taste of your own medicine,” he said, lowering himself to the sand and going visible. “The pain of your abductee mixed with Ursula’s venom. The poison is slow-acting, though. It won’t kill you unless you boast about our little encounter. If my maid is ever held for ransom again, by you or anyone else, I’ll know that you three were partly responsible. And then. . .”

He lifted his hand like an orchestra conductor, allowing a tiny release of the poison. The three witches fell to their knees, choking for breath and writhing in pain. He removed Pandora’s Box from his pocket, opened it, and let the biting wind of Belle’s fear circle around them. The witches shivered until the fear blew out to sea, tossing up a storm. Deciding his point was made, he gave the maestro’s downbeat, and the witches were able to stand up again.

“And that was just a taster. Wag your tongues, and you’ll feel it in full force. I place your fate in your hands. Any injury you suffer will be self-inflicted.”

“You bastard!” cursed Cruella.

“The feeling’s quite mutual, I assure you. Now, there may come a day when the students surpass the master, but today is not that day. I want my gauntlet.”

“We made a deal,” said Maleficent. “And you never go back on a deal.”

Oh, these three were so obtuse! Threats and bullying, that’s all they knew. It was the reason he dismissed them as students.

“No, I paid a ransom. Quite different. That’s not a deal. It’s a death wish.” His Inner Seer showed him the spot in the cave where Cruella’s familiar was guarding the gauntlet. “And a fool’s errand,” he added, retrieving it before their shocked eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

“Whatever you’re up to, it will never work,” said Cruella. Typical sour grapes.

Ursula showed a bit more cunning. Even while dripping in her own venom, she knew a worthy ally when she saw one. “Why don’t you join us?” she suggested.

He almost laughed, except his Inner Seer told him not to rule it out. Each of them had powers he might want to enlist one day. But he saw no use for them now.

“You severely underestimate me, dearie. I always win. And I win alone. I certainly don’t need to join you _Queens of Darkness_.”

He pronounced their overblown title with mocking contempt. Then he snapped himself to the opposite side of the beach. As long as he was near the ocean, it made sense to begin his investigations with Ursula. Reul Ghorm’s warning was still kicking around in the back of his brain, but he put the gauntlet on anyway. It pointed straight out to sea, and in the far distance, the silvery light of Neverland’s portal shone. Ursula’s greatest weakness had not changed. Like him, she was still carrying a lethal grudge against Hook.

“Now that’s a fight I would like to see,” he thought. "To the death, ending in mutual destruction."

But even though Ursula had not changed, _his_ priorities had. He had too much afoot in this realm to allow himself a detour to the Jolly Roger now. So he blew into the air and sent Belle’s fear storm in Hook’s direction. That would have to suffice.

A bit of drifting seaweed wrapped itself around his boot. He flicked it off with magic. “Enough of this hellhole!” he muttered. He closed his eyes, thought of Cruella, and let the gauntlet point the way.

It pointed him back toward the cave, so he went invisible again. Once inside, it pointed to the dog, and specifically, to its collar. “So this is the seat of her control,” he thought. He removed the collar by magic and replaced it with a decoy, but the gauntlet wasn’t finished pointing. He followed its lead and transported himself back to the Enchanted Forest, landing in the market square of the village where the Chamberlen Brothers lived. Because of the late hour, the square was empty, except for one lone peddler. The gauntlet was pointing directly at him.

Mistaking Rumpelstiltskin for an interested buyer, the peddler began to approach, pushing his cartful of bric-a-brac with him. He had no inkling that he was heading toward the Dark One himself. But when he got close enough, he stopped short. Eyeing the dog collar with apprehension, he said, “Cruella sent _you_?” 

What, did Cruella collar her lovers like she collared her dogs?

“I wouldn’t do that shrew’s bidding no matter what she paid me,” declared Rumpelstiltskin.

“Well, neither will I,” said the peddler. He pulled a peacock feather out from inside his cloak and laid it on the ground. Its blue-green eye swirled into a portal. And without another word, he jumped through it, leaving his wagon full of wares behind.

Rumpelstiltskin waited for the swirling vortex to close and pocketed the feather. It had to be one of Jefferson’s. A foppish ornament for his oversized top hat.

He erupted into uproarious laughter. If that was Cruella’s heartthrob, he sure was in a hurry to jilt her! And the disguise – it was brilliant! Sybaritic Cruella wouldn’t give a village peddler a second glance. But evidently, the man was no pauper. Not if he could afford Jefferson’s magic.

This was shaping up to be highly profitable night! What treasure would he find next? He closed his eyes and let the gauntlet do its work.

“Maleficent,” he said. Much to his delight, the gauntlet led him right back home. He was standing in front of his own cabinet of magical treasures, pointing at his carved ivory dragon statuette. Stroking its back would summon the Eastern wizard Wu Long.

Another turn of events he hadn’t foreseen! Maleficent’s most impressive power was her ability to shapeshift into a dragon. Wu Long possessed the same rare power. He was famously titled “the Dragon.” Was Maleficent pining for him? Because despite having just scared Cruella’s lover out of the realm, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t mind playing matchmaker if he stood to gain by it. The promise of a mate might be just enough to persuade Wu Long to share the spell he’d been guarding so closely, the one that would preserve relationships after the Dark Curse was cast.

He took the statuette off the shelf and ran his fingers down its ridges. “Wu Long, the Dragon Wizard, I have something to offer you.”

Wu Long manifested in human form. “Rumpelstiltskin,” he bowed.

Rumpelstiltskin bowed, too. Noticing that Wu Long’s gaze went immediately to the gauntlet, he removed it and put it on the table. “I am not offering the gauntlet. I know it would not interest you.”

“Certainly not!”

“But it led me to something that might: a witch’s heart. Like you, she can morph into a dragon.”

Wu Long’s obsidian eyes penetrated Rumpelstiltskin’s. “And like you, she is Dark.”

Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged this with a nod.

“And yet. . .” said Wu Long, “you are changing.”

“Indeed.”

As if he were wearing a gauntlet that could point out strengths instead of weaknesses, Wu Long looked toward the staircase leading to Belle’s library. He transported himself up there. Rumpelstiltskin sent the gauntlet, the familiar’s collar, and the feather portal into the vault before joining him.

“So it’s turned out that way,” Wu Long murmured, contemplating the library and then glancing modestly toward Belle’s bedroom door. “Light Magic. And all for the love of a woman.”

“It’s for her that I want the spell.”

“If this is what you wish to preserve, then I will allow it.”

Wu Long put his hands together and bowed, his equivalent of sealing the deal. Rumpelstiltskin copied the gesture and bowed lower. When he straightened up, a scroll with Chinese lettering lay on the table.

“But I cannot –“

“ _She_ has studied Chinese,” said Wu Long, causing Belle’s room to flood with Light for a brief moment. “You must depend upon her help at every step with this spell. It is my main guarantee that no evil will come from it. But I will take what you offered also.”

Rumpelstiltskin conjured up a map to Maleficent’s castle. She would return there soon if she hadn’t already. Neither she nor Cruella would deign to stay in that seaside cave for long.

Wu Long looked at him sternly. Rumpelstiltskin readied himself for the impending words of warning. “Watch your character,” he said. “It becomes your destiny.” He bowed once more and disappeared in a cloud of white smoke.

Since Rumpelstiltskin had no real history with the great wizard, he didn’t chafe against his warning as he would Reul Ghorm’s. He intended to follow the instructions of this spell down to the minutest detail. And since the main one was to rely on Belle’s help, he had to get into the right frame of mind for her. If there was one thing he was learning, it was that he could flip from Light to Dark in a flash, but leaving the Darkness for Light was much harder.

* * *

When Belle opened her eyes the next morning, the first thing that greeted her was the lacy canopy over her bed, and it made her smile. But as her dreamlike thoughts gave way to a firmer sense of her surroundings, she recognized that the enchantment of the night before had faded, and her room was otherwise back to normal. The bed had narrowed to its regular size, and the vanity table with the Mirror of Souls was gone. She was also alone. Mama Bea and Brunhilde were no longer there, not even in their object forms, and the wardrobe was just a wardrobe.

“Time to start work,” she thought, rising and stretching. She couldn’t expect to be treated like a princess forever.

The sun streamed in brightly from outside, which pleased her at first, until, in a rush of self-consciousness, she realized that she’d overslept. She jumped out of bed and began dressing in such a hurry, she caused something to fly out of her skirt pocket.

“My necklace!” she exclaimed, picking it up and putting it on.

“Stay safe and strong,” it said in Blue’s voice.

“Thank you, Blue,” she whispered into the air. Rumple must have given it to her to purify. As he’d once told her, he would never tamper with its magic himself.

“I have so much to thank Rumple for!” she thought, running downstairs. She headed for the kitchen, but much to her embarrassment, Rumple was already sitting at the head of the table in the Great Hall, and Mama Bea, in full body, was serving his tea.

“I’m so sorry!” she cried, apologizing to both of them at once. She tried taking over for Mama Bea, but Mama Bea wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she pulled Belle in for a big hug and kiss on the cheek. “No need to apologize to me, ducky! I’m out of the teapot!”

Belle looked down at the teapot. It looked the same as it always did.

“Mrs. Potts has completed the terms of her contract,” said Rumple, as two scrolls appeared on the table. “Which leaves the matter of her compensation. Belle, you’ll find a red velvet bag in the left drawer of the cabinet. Use it to gather up the gold in my basket.”

Eager to make up for her lateness, Belle promptly did as she was told. Though the gold was soft and pliable in the basket, it hardened into coin the instant she placed it in the bag.

“Your daughters must be capable girls to manage the household _and_ their little brother for a day,” said Rumple. “What are their names again?”

“Angela and Emma,” said Mama Bea.

Belle felt the bag getting heavier with each name.

“Now, as I told Chip when I freed him, I have strict expectations as to what gets said about me outside of my castle. You may say whatever you like about your time here with Chip, but I need the utmost discretion with regard to Belle. We cannot risk any repeats of last night.”

“No, of course not.”

The coinage bag was getting so heavy, Belle wasn’t sure she’d be able to carry it across the room.

“Therefore,” said Rumple, conjuring up two fresh scrolls and the dictation quill, “you must sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement.”

The incomprehensible phrase sounded like something out of a book on the non-magical shelves. Since Belle couldn’t make sense of it, she knew it must sound like utter gibberish to Mama Bea.

“The terms are simple. Say as little as possible. Avoid lying unless you have no other options. Rely on partial truths instead. For example, ‘Yes, I met the Princess of Avonlea. That beast locked her in the dungeon for days! She cried incessantly. But there’s no use sending a rescue party. She’s so afraid of breaking her deal with him, she refuses to leave. Clever lass, really. Only a fool would break a deal with _him_.’”

Mama Bea and Belle exchanged anxious glances.

“You must agree to this for Belle’s sake!” Rumple insisted, pounding on the table. “I have many valuable magical objects here. And even more enemies.”

“I agree,” said Mama Bea quickly. The quill jumped right into her hand.

Belle was touched at all this concern for her – Rumple’s and Mama Bea’s alike. But she also knew it would come at a price. 

“That bag must be full by now,” said Rumple, turning around. Belle pulled the drawstring to close it, but she did not have to lift it. Rumple levitated it to the table. Mama Bea stared in open-mouthed surprise.

“All of that for me?”

“For your past and future assistance to Belle,” he said, as the quill scratched the words, “PAID IN FULL” across the old contracts. He handed her a copy. “We’ll have to include another clause to our Non-Disclosure Agreement, though.” The quill began scribbling it in. _Mrs. Potts may not speak of what she has earned in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle_.

“I wouldn’t do that anyway,” said Mama Bea. “It’s not safe, and it’s bad manners.”

“Even so, the pouch will go invisible once it leaves my grounds. It will reappear only when it gets inside your house, and then you should hide it. Guard your treasure as you guard Belle’s life. And now, I suppose you two want to kiss and hug each other goodbye, and then we can all get on with our day.”

“Oh, yes!” cried Belle, running to Mama Bea and embracing her. “I’m so happy for you!” But her voice was breaking. She blurted out the truth. “I’ll miss you so much!”

“So try and visit,” Mama Bea whispered in her ear. But they both knew it was impossible. Rumple would never let her leave the castle, not even as far as the nearby village.

Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers, and Brunhilde, in broomstick form, flew over. “She’ll take you home,” he told Mama Bea, “but don’t worry. She’ll stay close to the ground.”

Belle remembered how much Mama Bea screamed on their first flight on Brunhilde. She was looking nervous now, but this time was decidedly different. Not only was she was going home, she was bringing a small fortune with her.

“Take care, love,” said Mama Bea, giving Belle’s hand one last squeeze. She mounted Brunhilde. Her contracts, both old and new, as well as the bag of gold, settled in her lap. Rumple magicked the doors open, and Mama Bea floated toward home.

Belle watched in silence, doing her best to squash her selfish wish that Mama Bea could stay.

Rumpelstiltskin interrupted her thoughts. “I trust your memory is intact,” he said icily.

“Oh. . .yes,” she said, flustered. She realized he was rebuking her for suspecting him about the sleeping potion. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“Then sit down and tell me how it happened.”

“He’s gone cold and commanding again,” she thought, pulling up a chair. The handsome hero of the Mirror was far away. The sullen beast was back to take his place. She should have seen this coming. She _had_ cost him his gauntlet.

“It’s going to sound silly,” she began, “but there was a puppy. I know I shouldn’t have followed it, but I thought. . .“

She caught herself in time. She couldn’t admit what prompted her to follow the dog because then she’d have to explain about seeing the leash in the cellar. And while that by itself wasn’t so terrible, it raised the question of what else she’d seen there, and she wasn’t going to bring up any questions about the mysterious little boy until the time was right.

“You thought,” said Rumpelstiltskin, “that in a place where a teapot is your friend, and a broomstick is your guard, there couldn’t possibly be any harm in a cute, little puppy. Surely not a witch’s familiar, baiting you into a trap!”

“I’m sorry,” said Belle, feeling foolish. She really should have known better.

“You've taken your safety here for granted,” he scolded, making a dog collar appear out of thin air. Pointing out an amethyst chip on its buckle, he explained, “ _That_ connects back to a matching gem Cruella always wears. I’ve disabled it now, but is allows her to track everything the dog sees and hears.”

In spite of her embarrassment, Belle was fascinated, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t finished. “I would have thought that you of all people understood that looks can be deceiving.”

“I’ll be much more careful from now on.”

He looked at her sharply. “I believe I taught you some new magic words last night.”

It took Belle a moment to think of them. So many things happened last night! Then she remembered.

“I promise,” she said somberly. She reached over and grasped his hand. He nodded ever so slightly, but quickly pulled his hand back. Feeling chastised, she placed hers primly in her lap. 

“So now I know how they lured you out. But that still leaves the more important question. How did they know to come for you at all?”

“News spread from Avonlea?” she suggested.

“And someone in Camelot must have leaked about the gauntlet. But it doesn’t add up. There are a few missing pieces. Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

There was the cottage, of course, but that had nothing to do with it. She racked her brains for more. She couldn’t think of anything, but just as she was about to say so, Cogsworth gave a loud tick that made her look his way. His body was still a clock, but his face was human. He was mouthing the word, “NO.”

Then Belle remembered. The genie in the mirror! And mirrors were used for magical communication! She really ought to tell Rumple.

“NO! NO! NO!” Cogsworth was furiously shaking himself from side to side.

Rumple turned around to see what was distracting her. “Are you having an epiphany?” he asked the clock.

“Yes! Something new I want to try out!”

“Very well then,” said Rumple, snapping him human. “Let me know how it goes.”

Cogsworth sprinted downstairs. He was telling a lie for her sake, and he expected her to go along with it.

“What does he do down there?” she asked.

“If he ever succeeds, I will tell you. Until then, there’s no point.”

“Rumple keeps plenty of secrets himself,” Belle reasoned inwardly. “He just asked Mama Bea to sign a whole contract to keep secrets. And I _did_ promise Cogsworth and the others. I’ll have to keep this one.”

After all, what difference would it make if she told him? She couldn’t unsee the genie. She’d just stay away from mirrors as part of her promise to be more careful. That ought to be enough.

“It seems to me it’s time we reviewed the terms of _your_ contract,” announced Rumple, snapping a copy in front of each of them.

Belle’s stomach sank. This was it. Time to pay the price. What kind of deal was he going to force out of her now?

“You need a better understanding of how things work around here,” he said. “So please, read aloud. And though I know it won’t come easily for you, do try to hold your questions until the end.”

Belle hadn’t felt so self-conscious since her governess made her recite the rules of etiquette for her debut, but he said “please,” so she had to do as he wished. She began reading. “ _In payment for services procured by Belle, Princess of Avonlea, and delivered by Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, both parties agree to the following conditions and terms_ : _Belle shall clean Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, launder his clothes, serve his meals and tea, and bring him straw for spinning, as necessary_.” She looked up. “And I’ve been doing all that.”

“You have. Go on.”

 _“Belle shall assist Rumpelstiltskin in the gathering of magical ingredients._ ” She paused to comment, “All right, well, I haven’t done that, but –”

“Of course, you have. What do you think I do with all the dust you’ve collected? I let nothing go to waste.”

All that useless dust? What could that possibly do? She dutifully continued reading _. “Belle shall assist Rumpelstiltskin in_ _magical research_.”

This time he interrupted. “We’ve only scratched the surface there, but that will soon change. Continue.”

“How could I have missed so much?” Belle wondered to herself. She knew she was distraught the night she signed the contract, but she didn’t remember seeing a single word of the next section.

 _“Rumpelstiltskin shall not cast any spell upon Belle nor administer any potion to her unless it is for her express benefit.”_ She paused in astonishment. It took her a moment to let the power of that promise sink in. When she resumed reading, she went much more slowly and carefully. _“Rumpelstiltskin may not use any magic on Belle that can thwart her natural will or erase her memory._ ”

She gasped. “Rumple, really, I appreciate –”

“Keep going.”

_“Rumpelstiltskin may not touch Belle’s person without her permission.”_

That stunned her into silence, too. Rumpelstiltskin had always been a gentleman toward her – never entering her room, defending her honor to the Sherriff of Nottingham – but until now, she hadn’t given much thought to the more commonplace instances. Yet they were all coming back to her. That tiny little brush against her when they left Father’s palace. The way he offered his arm before a transport spell. Their dance right here in the Great Hall. In all kinds of subtle, wordless ways, he always waited for permission.

Next came the part she thought she remembered best, but that was full of surprises, too. “ _As long as Belle remains in his employ, Rumpelstiltskin will feed and clothe her. As long as Belle remains in his employ, Rumpelstiltskin will protect her from intruders, regardless of injury to himself or his possessions.”_

“That’s why you gave up the gauntlet for me,” she whispered, too flattered to look up. She continued reading, “ _As long as Belle remains in his employ, Rumpelstiltskin will heal her from all physical ailments and injuries as expediently as possible.”_

Going warm inside, she remembered how his healing spell permeated her body. And how his first priority was to get Ursula’s venomous slime off her. Yet he added all those pretty touches to her room at the same time. His care for her was not just expedient, and it was more than just compassionate. It was tailor-made to give her pleasure.

Finally, she reached the conclusion, the one part she was sure she remembered perfectly and absolutely disliked. _“As long as Belle remains in his employ, she may not leave the castle or its grounds unless accompanied by Rumpelstiltskin. This agreement is binding now and forever, but its terms may be amended upon negotiation.”_

“Amended upon negotiation?” she repeated. Perhaps her memory was not so perfect after all.

“Is there anything you wish to change?”

“You’ve been so generous!” she cried. “Except that I can’t come and go as I please – ”

He did not let her finish. “I cannot possibly amend that,” he said. “It’s absolutely non-negotiable. Look at what happened right here on my own grounds. You followed a dog to your near death!”

“I’m sorry,” she said for the fourth time that morning. But apologizing wasn’t going to change Rumple’s mind. And after seeing how much he’d pledged to her, she didn’t feel she could press the point. He was holding himself to a very strict standard, especially with his own magic. He was respecting her totally – body _and_ mind.

“I want to send a message to my father,” she said. Nothing in the contract prevented it. “I want him to know I’m safe and well here. How do we do that? By enchanting a seashell?”

“We can, but it’s an awful lot of bother when there’s a much simpler method at hand. I’m sure your father would prefer to receive one of your charming missives. Write it, and Brunhilde will deliver it. I’ll give you half an hour.”

The mention of a time frame made Belle’s eyes dart to the spot on the mantelpiece where Cogsworth usually sat. She realized she was missing some vital information. “How long have I been here?” she asked. “I mean, _really_ been here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t comprehend what you mean by ‘really.’ Time is relative. And relative to you, the time in Avonlea is the same. Your days are their days. Your nights are their nights.”

That sounded like his typical obfuscation, but Belle got the main point. To Father and anyone else who might miss her, she was gone only a few weeks.

“As you must be aware,” Rumple continued, “your father will never believe that you’re safe with me. He’ll think I coerced you into saying it.”

Belle knew he was right, but she attempted the letter anyway. She went to her library where pen, paper, and breakfast were waiting for her. She tried writing, but just like on that fateful day when she first sought Rumple’s help, she wasn’t sure how to begin. Writing _about_ Rumple was even harder than writing _to_ him. How could she explain her new life to Father? She couldn’t tell him about the kidnapping because it would panic him, and he wouldn’t be impressed by her library or her blossoming magical education. After a bit of vacillating, she decided to use Rumple’s advice to Mama Bea. She told no outright lies, but she sequenced the facts in the only way she knew Father would ever accept them.

_Dear Father,_

_I am sorry I have not written in all this time, but please be assured that I am safe and well. My first few days here were difficult, but now the Blue Fairy comes to help me whenever I call her. The necklace Mother gave me has been a life-saver! Blue has the ability to transform a captive’s room when her captor isn’t looking. I have enough to eat, a comfortable bed with a bath, and all the books I could want. If I ever get sick or hurt, I will be healed immediately. So all in all, my life here is not so bad, but I do miss you and Avonlea terribly. Please write back with any news and send my love to everyone._

It felt unfair to give Blue all the credit and worse to refer to Rumple as her “captor.” He wasn’t that, even if she wasn’t free to leave. He was such a conundrum! He hid his kindness in those dreaded contracts just like he hid himself behind the monster’s mask. And now she had to take part in the act whether she liked it or not. The full truth would shock Father. It made a mockery of all the ambitions he’d groomed her for. She, the apple of his eye and pride of the palace, was falling in love with none other than her “captor,” the terror of the realm, the notorious, paradoxical, (angelic), Rumpelstiltskin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, I'm slowing down my posting schedule. You folks have almost caught up to me! I'll see how much I can get done in July and hope to come back in August. I look forward to seeing you then!


	17. A Tea Party

While Belle was writing her letter, Rumpelstiltskin went down to the vault to check on Cogsworth. He knew Cogsworth was lying about having an epiphany. He was after the feather portal. Rumpelstiltskin was sure he’d catch him in the act of examining it, and though he found him tinkering with the Machine as usual, the portal was lying tellingly close.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” said Rumpelstiltskin, picking up the feather and letting it tickle his fingertips. 

“You also knew I couldn’t do anything with it. The portal’s dormant.”

“Not for long, though. Jefferson’s on his way. So let’s just cut to negotiations, shall we? You’re hoping to come with me. Assuming it takes you home.”

“Are you saying you don’t know where it goes?” asked Cogsworth in surprise. “Why would you buy a portal without knowing that?”

“Long story, but I didn’t purchase it. It just sort of. . . fell into my hands.” He illustrated his words by lifting the feather, releasing it, and catching it as it coasted downward.

“You mean to say you made a deal for it with some shady third party.”

“Close enough,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “No need to get bogged down in the details. The question is: where are we going and why? We can safely rule out the Land Without Color, though using such a florid object might be Jefferson’s idea of a joke. And clearly, you have no desire to return to Oz.”

Cogsworth cringed at the mere mention of the place.

“Very well then. If you want to travel with me, I ask only one thing. Leave the Machine behind as collateral.”

Cogsworth went pale. “It’s my life’s work!”

“Which is how I know you’ll come back for it.”

Cogsworth, ever the stoic gentleman, smoldered but said nothing.

“Professor, now let’s be reasonable,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “I’m offering you a fair deal. You haven’t gotten it to work, even with the full benefit of my magic. So perhaps there is some technological piece missing. But if you ever find it, you’ll have to come back here to test it. You owe me the second ride. Those were our original terms, and you know you could never have come this far without me.” 

Cogsworth frowned, but did not deny it. Rumpelstiltskin grinned. The proper precautions were in place, so now the deal could be struck. He secretly preferred jumping realms with someone else anyway. Those portals brought back his most harrowing memory. And he quite respected the failed scientist - his dogged persistence, his hair-splitting attention to detail. That was why he was such an asset in the Clock, and why he would make an equally useful traveling companion.

“So, assuming it goes to your Land, who there would most interest _me_?”

“Doctor Henry Jekyll,” said Cogsworth readily. Tight-lipped as he ordinarily was, he also knew how his bread got buttered. “I don’t know him personally, but I understand he’s working on a serum to divide a person’s better nature from his animalistic drives.”

“How quaint and Victorian!” laughed Rumpelstiltskin.

“I wouldn’t be so dismissive if I were you,” said Cogsworth. “Think of the split you’re already living. Stretching out Belle’s nights so you can do your dirty work, slowing down her days so you can spend more time with her. What if you could do that not just in time, but in body?”

Rumpelstiltskin had to hand it to Cogsworth. The glaring failure of his Machine aside, no other scientist he knew consistently delivered such good ideas. The serum sounded perfect! No more messy spill-over as he transitioned from Darkness to Light. Belle could finally enjoy the company of the peacemaking hero she admired. And the monster could devote himself to taking care of the Curse.

“Let’s prepare for Jefferson then,” he said cheerfully, snapping them into Belle’s library.

Belle was finished with her letter and was giving Brunhilde instructions on how to find her father’s palace. 

“Brunhilde knows the way,” said Rumpelstiltskin, eager to get rid of her. With any luck, she’d delay her return. Being near her old legion would be a convenient distraction, and the Curse of the Wood Flesh would keep her in line. He wouldn’t let her leave without a warning, though. “Remember our terms and be true to Belle’s wishes,” he commanded.

“I will always be true to Belle’s wishes,” she proclaimed, donning her horned helmet and flying off.

“Brunhilde has changed,” Belle remarked when she was gone. “She’s become very. . . attentive.”

“Overflow effects from last night’s spell?” wondered Rumpelstiltskin. He might have inadvertently given her a boost in working off her debt. He’d have to look into it later. Right now, they had to prepare for Jefferson.

“We are having a tea party,” he informed Belle, “and I need you to serve. As hostess, not as maid. Go ask Madame Wardrobe to come up with something other than that uniform.”

Belle did not dash off right away. The table was piling up with books, and she didn’t want to leave without taking a peek first. “Jefferson Hatter is coming!” 

Her excited smile was pure sunshine. Part of Rumpelstiltskin was thrilled to have made her happy, but his Dark Side flared with jealousy. It suddenly seemed very important to clarify that Jefferson was a married man. “Along with his wife Priscilla. So after you’re dressed and the tea things are out, fill up a coinage bag.”

“What are you buying?”

“Oh, a little magic, a little Information. Professor Cogsworth will be joining us also. As a guest, not as butler.”

The use of Cogsworth’s title jarred Belle. “Professor?” she repeated. “You’re not a wizard?”

“No, that’s just a ruse,” he answered. “I’m actually a scientist from the Victorian era.” Though he rarely spoke of his objective, he did not mind sharing it with Belle. “I’m experimenting with Time Travel. I’m building a conveyance to carry people forward into the future, or, as more people seem to prefer,” he said, glancing at Rumpelstiltskin, “return them to the past.”

Belle stood stock still as she took this in. Rumpelstiltskin could only imagine the ideas racing through her mind. The implications were staggering. And Belle, the avid student of history, would appreciate them.

“Save your questions for the tea party,” he said, gently nudging her to go get ready.

Smiling broadly, Belle ran to her bedroom. Rumpelstiltskin snapped himself and Cogsworth into the Great Hall.

“You invited _Priscilla_?” asked Cogsworth, teetering slightly as he caught his balance. “What in the world for? She has nothing to do with this side of Jefferson’s business. She distrusts scientists, and she absolutely abhors you.”

“Well, who can blame her? But I’m hoping Belle’s charm and a bagful of gold will grease that wheel.”

He sat down and began spinning. Cogsworth brought in the tea tray, even though it was Belle’s job. Belle came in a few minutes later, dressed in a stunning, new gown. It wasn’t as full and ruffled as the yellow ballgown, but with a demure puff around the shoulders, and three shades of green for the sleeves, bodice, and skirt, she sparkled like an emerald. Rumpelstiltskin could barely keep his eyes off her.

“What’s the feather for?” she asked, taking note of it for the first time.

Rumpelstiltskin was too tongue-tied to answer.

“It’s a portal to another realm,” Cogsworth explained for him. “Here, let me finish setting the table. You fill the coinage bag.”

Belle bent beside the wheel. It took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s self-control to keep himself from leaning over, stroking her cheek, and telling her how radiant she looked.

“Does this mean you’ll be traveling again?” she asked him.

Was that a note of disappointment in her voice? Would she actually miss him?

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he thought. “Remember: her dream is to see the world.”

How he wished he could oblige her! What a treat that would be – to visit the Victorian realm with that vision of loveliness on his arm! He would take her to a real ball. It might be excellent practice for the Land Without Magic. It was smack dab in the middle of their timelines.

Then doubt began creeping in. If the serum made him split in two, would the old spinner fit into the Dark One’s finer clothes? How would he look? And what if his limp came back?

Luckily, those bothersome thoughts had to be swept aside. The Hatters’ carriage rode up to the castle. Cogsworth, in his butler persona, went to the foyer to open the door for them. Jefferson was handing Priscilla down from a brand, new carriage. Between his top hat and her red velvet gown, they made quite a stylish pair. They were certainly living high on the hog these days.

“Jefferson and Priscilla Hatter,” announced Cogsworth.

“Please, Professor, no formalities,” said Jefferson, shaking Cogsworth’s hand and entering the Great Hall to shake Rumpelstiltskin’s.

“My new assistant, Belle,” said Rumpelstiltskin, presenting her.

The term made Jefferson raise an eyebrow and Priscilla smirk, but Belle was so taken aback at her new title, she didn’t even notice.

They exchanged pleasantries and sat around the table. Rumpelstiltskin was proud to see Belle hold court, asking each guest how they took their tea. As always, she reserved the chipped cup for him.

When the tea was served, it was time to get down to business. Rumpelstiltskin handed the feather portal to Jefferson.

“Funny to see this here,” he said, running a finger down the feather’s spine. “It goes to and from the Victorian realm. Specifically, to Sebastian Melmoth’s bookshop.”

“Speranza’s,” said Belle. “I’ve seen the stamp in the books in our library.”

Jefferson nodded. “Sebastian’s one of my best trading partners. Rare books in exchange for portals. I designed these feathers especially for him.”

“Cruella’s peddler!” thought Rumpelstiltskin. For years, he’d been maintaining an open account at Speranza’s. He was making especially ample use of it lately to supply Belle’s library. But with Jefferson as his middleman, he never had reason to give a second thought to the bookseller himself. Now he conjured a Dreamcatcher, held it to his head, and pictured the “peddler” jumping through the portal. “Is that Sebastian?” he asked Jefferson.

“No,” said Jefferson, “but I’ve seen him before. He’s a regular in the shop.”

“Speranza’s sounds like a fascinating place,” said Belle. “‘A conduit for Book Magic between the magical and non-magical realms, tucked away where nobody would dream of looking for it.’”

Jefferson smiled. “Nice to know someone is reading my books.”

It seemed Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t the only one who was jealous. “Don’t believe everything you read, princess,” said Priscilla. “My husband makes the other realms sound wonderful so people will buy his portals. Every last one of them has an ugly side, and the Victorian realm is no different. All those stuffy scholars, convinced of their own superiority, talking to us like _we’re_ the ignorant ones for knowing that magic is real.”

“They’re wrong, of course, but it will be good to get home,” murmured Cogsworth.

“Professor!” said Rumpelstiltskin, remembering his role as host, as well as his prior promise to Belle. “Why don’t you tell Belle your life story? She’s the only one here who doesn’t know it.”

Besides, compared to everyone else around the table, with the exception of Belle herself, Cogsworth’s story was the least unsavory. 

The professor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t like talking about himself. “Both Hatters are correct about my realm,” he began. “There’s little magic to be found in it, but science and technology are burgeoning. My aim with the Machine was to reach a future that was even more advanced. And then, I met Jefferson.” He looked over at him gratefully.

“Shelter from the rain?” said Jefferson, tipping his hat in imitation of that first meeting.

“It’s _always_ raining in the Victorian realm,” Priscilla explained to Belle.

“The weather is rather dismal,” agreed Cogsworth. “It’s part of the reason I was so eager to leave, though certainly not the main one.” He was growing almost misty himself, sharing this memory. “Jefferson’s hat was my very first glimpse of magic. I was raised to believe it was sheer myth and superstition. But realm jumping is as close as I’ve ever gotten to real Time Travel. And since there was nothing keeping me at home, we jumped to Oz.”

“Got pulled there from what I understand,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, but he kept his comments to himself.

“What an adventure!” said Belle. “I’ve always wanted to see Oz.”

“It _was_ marvelous, at least in the beginning. The natives were very welcoming. You see, just like my Land has no magic, theirs has no technology. So when I built one of the early models of my Time Machine, they celebrated me as a wizard.”

Belle gasped. “ _You’re_ the Wizard of Oz?”

“Don’t you get it?” laughed Priscilla. “There _is_ no Wizard of Oz! It’s all a bluff! The _real_ power in that Land lies with the women.”

“That’s precisely the reason I’ve always wanted to see it,” said Belle.

“Not while Zelena reigns, you won’t,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. “Women in power are no different than men,” he said, hoping to dampen Belle’s enthusiasm. “Character is the real determinant of how well or poorly power gets wielded.”

Belle nodded silently. Rumpelstiltskin caught a glimpse of the image that flitted through her mind. Her mother and father.

“Regina’s certainly making a mess with hers,” said Jefferson.

"Mmm hmm," agreed Priscilla.

“Please, no politics,” said Rumpelstiltskin, shooting the Hatters a steely look. The less said about Regina in Belle’s presence, the better. He would not allow the two of them to cross paths under any circumstance. It would be even more dangerous than taking Belle to Oz. The success of his dual mission depended on keeping Dark and Light far apart.

“The Wicked Witches of Oz are the worst,” said Cogsworth. “I can say that unequivocally, having ended up as Zelena’s slave. If it weren’t for Rumpelstiltskin, I’d still be in her clutches now.”

But at this point in his story, Cogsworth’s natural secrecy returned. He didn’t tell Belle the rest, and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t want her hearing it. In order to sneak Cogsworth away from Zelena, they had to dupe some egotistical humbug into becoming the replacement wizard.

“So that was why you made your deal,” deduced Belle. “The reason you work in the clock.”

“It was a natural fit,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

Cogsworth sighed. “When you know Time as well as I do, you can learn to do almost anything with it.” 

“Except get it to run backwards,” said Rumpelstiltskin. And that was all he’d allow to be said on that subject. Turning to Jefferson, he asked, “What can you tell me about Doctor Henry Jekyll?”

Jefferson gave a slight shrug. “I believe Viktor might have mentioned him.”

“Viktor!” scoffed Priscilla. She looked pointedly at Belle. “Have you met _him_ yet?”

Belle shook her head.

“He’s as arrogant as they come. Like all doctors.”

“That’s been my experience, too,” said Belle. As though assuring herself of own circumspection, she discreetly took a sip of her tea.

“Well, _he’s_ the worst of the lot,” said Priscilla. “His brother was a soldier. Killed way too young. But instead of just mourning like anyone else, the great Doctor Frankenstein decided to cure him. Can you imagine? _Curing_ death! Even your master sorcerer over there can’t bring someone back from the dead!”

“I am not her master,” said Rumpelstiltskin. Nobody seemed to take notice, least of all Priscilla.

“You should see his brother now. Jefferson took photographs. He won’t put any of _those_ into his books! They’d turn people’s stomachs.”

Cogsworth gave Rumpelstiltskin a look that said, “I told you so.”

“It’s a tragic story,” said Jefferson, “but it _was_ an accident.”

“Science can’t progress without mistakes,” added Cogsworth. “It’s part of the process.”

“Yes, all science comes with a price. Why does _that_ sound familiar?” She threw Rumpelstiltskin a contemptuous glare.

Cogsworth was right. He never should have invited Priscilla. But her lavish new lifestyle made her easy to placate. 

“And talking of price. . .” he said, levitating the bag of gold to the table. It landed with a thump in front of the Hatters.

“That’s a sizable offer for one portal,” said Jefferson. “What else do you want?”

“Come off it, Jefferson. You know he means for you to go after him if he gets stuck.”

Priscilla was persnickety as hell, but she was nobody’s fool. “Ladies, freeze!” said Rumpelstiltskin, snapping Belle and Priscilla motionless.

“She’s right, of course, but it’s more than that. I need you to reunite me with Belle in case we get separated. No matter where, when, or how. Bring her to me or me to her, whichever works best. She’s already been kidnapped once. I could not bear it if. . .”

The thought was too nightmarish to finish. It must be plain to Cogsworth and Jefferson – his two closest collaborators – that he was in love with Belle. What neither of them knew was that he was thinking of Bae, too. There wasn’t a mortal alive today who knew Bae had even existed. But Rumpelstiltskin carried the guilt-ridden memory of him daily: how he’d let his darling boy slip through his fingers, and how he had to live in tortured loneliness for the rest of his cursed, eternal life.

“Say no more,” said Jefferson, extending his hand. “I don’t know how you got so lucky, but I know this much: this deal will have a payback more precious than gold.”

“Grace, I should think,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “And that’s something scoundrels like us don’t earn easily.”

Rumpelstiltskin conjured up his quill and dictated a quick contract. Jefferson signed his copy, stuffed it into his jacket, and waited as Rumpelstiltskin unfroze the ladies.

“So let me ask you something else,” said Priscilla. “What if you get back on your own? If Jefferson doesn’t have to go after you, are you going to demand the gold back?”

“No, it’s yours to keep no matter what happens.”

Like the calculating gambler she was, Priscilla weighed her options. “Why _do_ people get stuck in other realms?” she asked Jefferson.

“Because the push that sent them there is stronger than the pull that could bring them back.”

Priscilla looked at Belle, presumably to assess the power of her pull. Then she looked at Cogsworth, the native of the Victorian realm on his way home. Finally, she looked at her husband. “Give it an extra strong kick for the return,” she said.

Jefferson passed his hand over the eye of the feather and got it swirling again. With a flick of his wrist, Rumpelstiltskin sent the bag of gold out to the Hatters’ carriage. The horses whinnied from the sudden addition of weight.

“It’ll take you right into Sebastian’s shop,” said Jefferson, handing over the portal. “And he knows more about that realm than anybody. He sees everyone that comes through.”

“Thank you,” said Rumpelstiltskin. Priscilla’s cantankerousness made it rather a flop as a tea party, but it was a highly worthwhile negotiation. And since nobody had any reason to pretend they were there just to enjoy each other’s company, Jefferson and Priscilla got up to leave.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” said the ever-gracious Belle.

Priscilla gave a weak smile, and Jefferson tipped his hat. All three castle-dwellers saw the Hatters to the door, but only Cogsworth escorted them outside.

“I don’t know, Rumple, I don’t have a good feeling about this,” said Belle, standing in the doorway as they watched Jefferson handing Priscilla up onto the carriage. 

“Oh, don’t let that naysayer get to you. There's no danger to me _or_ her husband. Believe me, if she didn’t have confidence in Jefferson’s return spell, she never would have agreed.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m worried about the doctor you’re going to meet. Doctors can’t be trusted.”

“Not _all_ doctors are quacks, Belle. And I shouldn’t have to tell you that it’s not fair to dismiss a whole class of people, much less a whole field of knowledge, just because of a few rotten apples.”

Belle did not look convinced. Rumpelstiltskin was glad to change the subject when the Hatters drove off and Cogsworth was back inside.

“How do you want us to set the Clock for you?” he asked Belle. “I can freeze time here, and you won’t even notice we’re gone. My own preference is to stretch out your afternoon. I’ve left a scroll in the library that needs your translation skills. Or I can make it night, and you’ll sleep through the whole thing.”

“Why not just let time pass normally?”

“Inadvisable,” said Cogsworth. “There’s nothing normal about Time when realm-jumping. Days in that realm might last years here or vice versa.”

Belle lit up with a new idea. “How about I go back to Father while you’re away? Just for a visit. I’ll rejoin you here when you come back.” She endowed her next words with full earnestness. “I promise.”

Rumpelstiltskin could feel that she genuinely meant it, but he also knew she wouldn’t be in full control.

“Do not promise what you cannot deliver,” he told her. “Your father will force-feed you another memory potion as soon as he gets the chance. And not only will he try to make you forget your mother’s death again, he’ll want you to forget _me_. To do that, he’ll have to erase your sacrifice for Avonlea. Imagine walking around the kingdom with all the villagers hailing you as a hero, and the only thing you can remember is that they love you for being beautiful, nothing more.” 

“I would _not_ like that,” Belle said soberly.

The thought and image that accompanied her words came through with such clarity, Rumpelstiltskin might as well have been holding a Dreamcatcher over her head. She was picturing her betrothed, Gaston, in full uniform. She didn’t seem to miss him much. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t be positive, but it didn’t seem as though she even _liked_ him. His heart pounded with new hope. He needed to get that serum!

Belle sighed. “Give it one day, then. With a long afternoon, just like you said. Come back this time tomorrow.”

Rumpelstiltskin sent Cogsworth back into the Clock, and together, they set the time. Then he clapped and brought Brunhilde back from Avonlea, accompanied by a few of her sisters. They would stand guard around the castle in his absence. 

“I appreciate what you tried to promise just now, Belle, so I will make you a promise in return. If my mission in the Victorian realm is successful, I promise to bring you there. You can spend as long as you like in Speranza’s or go meet the learned women of the Blue Stockings Society. Perhaps we’ll even venture into a gypsy encampment. Other than the bookshop, they maintain what little magic exists in that realm. We’ll go anywhere you want.”

He did not mention his own wish of taking her to a ball. That offer would come when he was a more attractive partner. Her eyes were shining anyway. And when he held out his hand to seal the deal, she gave him more of a warm squeeze than a formal handshake.

For once, his innate fear of realm-jumping was quelled. He could hardly wait to begin. He needed that serum desperately!


	18. Speranza's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, I'd really appreciate comments on this one. If anything is unclear, PLEASE let me know. Thank you.

While Rumpelstiltskin busied himself preparing for their jump, Cogsworth went down to the vault to dismantle the Machine. He had no intention of ever coming back, so he removed a few choice parts, the ones small enough to conceal in his pockets, yet vital enough that he might rebuild with them.

He didn’t get emotional. He wasn’t given to sentiment. And saying goodbye to a mere machine was foolish. Even still, he pushed his way through the job as quickly as he could. It _was_ painful to take apart what he had put together with such attention and care. But as was his wont, he bit his lip through the present and hoped for a better future.

He marveled at the irony of it all. He was coming full circle - returning through Speranza’s! He kept his countenance while Belle waxed enthusiastic over the place, but no written account, not even Jefferson’s, could really capture what was to be discovered there. A magical conduit between realms indeed! The one and only time he’d ever dared to step near the shop was the day he first met Jefferson, and it blew his whole world apart. Before then, he was a stiff, self-important scholar who actually believed he had a reputation to protect. He couldn’t let himself be seen among the quirky patrons of Speranza’s!

But sitting alone at home on that grey and rainy day, he got honest with himself. What did he have to lose? He’d exhausted all other options with the Machine, so he might as well try something different. But more than that, he was lonely. So, on a whim, he went – not because he believed in magic, but with the hope of laying eyes on the famously flamboyant Sebastian Melmoth.

Except Cogsworth never even made it inside the shop. When he saw Jefferson standing outside the door in his enormous top hat, he mistook _him_ for Sebastian. And despite what he’d told Belle, that first jump was not intentional. He only leaned over the hat because he was curious. He didn’t expect its pull to suck him right through. His life had been a succession of magical misadventures ever since, though it had certainly been edifying.

And now at last he was going home! In the wise words of Glinda, there was no place like it! But he was paying a hefty price to get back.

He knew he had a few extra minutes because Rumpelstiltskin would be bolstering his protections around the castle for Belle’s sake. So rather than spend it mourning the defunct Machine, Cogsworth decided to say goodbye to the genie. He pulled back the sheet covering the mirror and called him with the rhyme they’d invented together: “Genie, genie, in the mirror. Please speak to your co-conspirator.”

The genie appeared right away. He was always lurking nearby. The witch he was enslaved to stationed him there to spy on Rumpelstiltskin. With Cogsworth’s help, he was engaged in some subterfuge of his own. He was reading whichever of Rumpelstiltskin’s books Cogsworth could smuggle to him, teaching himself all about the Mirror Realm and how to get out of it. Any man attempting to engineer his way out of a witch’s trap had Cogsworth’s deepest sympathies.

“I’m leaving,” Cogsworth told him. “I’m going home.”

“How in the world did you manage _that_?” asked the genie.

“I didn’t. Jefferson and his friends arranged it.”

“And the Dark One doesn’t suspect?”

Cogsworth shook his head. “Jefferson told me to bait him with the story of Doctor Jekyll. Then he got his wife to badmouth the plan so he’d want it more.”

“Ah, the lure of the forbidden. You’d think the Dark One would know better than to fall for one of his own favorite tricks.”

Cogsworth shrugged. “Everyone has blind spots, even him. At the moment, he’s so intent on getting Jekyll’s cure, he’s a bit off his game. But it can’t last. I have to make my move while I still can.”

"Take me with you!" cajoled the genie. "I’ll grant you three wishes.” 

Cogsworth knew _that_ was coming. And for once, he was sorely tempted. The genie could send the Machine home for him! But he knew better. Like Belle, he’d read King Leopold’s biography. And even though he believed the genie when he said that he was framed for the King’s murder, that didn’t mean it was prudent to accept his magic. If there was one thing Cogsworth had learned, it was that all magic came with a price. At least with Rumpelstiltskin, it was spelled out in the contract. People didn’t bother to look, but it was there. With the genie, you’d get your three wishes without knowing how they’d come back to bite. Even the genie didn’t know. Cogsworth felt safer just relying on Jefferson. Nobody could execute a cleaner break-out.

“For your own sake, you should stay away from here,” he told the genie. “The Dark One is bound to discover you sooner or later. And you’re not going to find out anything more about the maid. She’s too frightened to look in your mirror ever again.”

Actually, Belle was more sensibly cautious than irrationally afraid, but the result would be the same for the genie.

“Can’t you tell me anything about her?” he pleaded. “Her name, at least?”

“Certainly not! She hasn’t betrayed you to the Dark One, so don’t betray her to your witch.”

He hoped that would be enough. He understood the pressure the genie was under, but he’d also grown quite fond of Belle. It was a pity she was stuck with Rumpelstiltskin, but she’d suffer a worse fate at the hands of that witch. Cogsworth wanted no part of it.

“I must go. The Dark One will be back any moment.” He put his hand on the mirror. The genie did the same from the opposite side. “Good luck,” each said to the other.

Cogsworth put the sheet back over the mirror and walked away just in the nick of time. Rumpelstiltskin popped back into the vault. Cogsworth was too used to his rhythms to be caught unawares, but he _was_ surprised when Rumpelstiltskin handed him a pouch full of gold.

“For food, clothes, and other incidentals,” he said. “Belle filled it. She must like you very much.”

“Belle likes everybody,” said Cogsworth, putting the pouch in his empty pocket.

“Curious thing, isn’t it?” tittered Rumpelstiltskin. He held up his hands, and a pair of armor-like gloves floated to him. Cogsworth didn’t know what they were for, but like almost everything else in the vault, other than his own Machine, they were probably full of Dark Magic.

“Ready?” asked Rumpelstiltskin, donning the gloves and his cloak. Cogsworth nodded. Rumpelstiltskin laid the swirling portal down onto the floor. “After you,” he said politely.

Cogsworth wasn’t fooled. Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t allowing him to jump first out of good manners. He was scared.

But Cogsworth was not at all afraid. Though he was jumping to an indeterminate future, accommodating for unknown variables was par for the course for a scientist. And the physical discomforts of realm jumping were only temporary. So he leapt into the blinding light and let himself be carried by the chaotic gust of wind. Rumpelstiltskin followed behind him, his shrieks getting piercingly louder as they were pulled deeper into the vortex. Then the queasiness hit. Cogsworth remembered Jefferson’s advice: just focus forward. They needed to look for the entry point on the other side. Whenever they spotted it, they’d better aim themselves toward it.

When it first appeared, it was nothing but a tiny blue-green dot. “Over there!” cried Cogsworth, pointing. He didn’t know if Rumpelstiltskin could hear anything above his own screams, but eventually the spot grew too big to miss. The closer they got to Land, the more the smoky white glow around them gave way to color.

Cogsworth assumed they were advancing toward another peacock feather. He also assumed that since they’d jumped through a portal on a floor, the entry portal in Speranza’s would be in the same position. Either that or they’d crash through a ceiling. But the trip ended with one final, rude surprise. They were hurled neither up nor down, but forward – with him first and Rumpelstiltskin tumbling after. The only saving grace was that layers of thick Persian carpeting were there to cushion their fall. 

Rumpelstiltskin was sweating, panting, and still trying to catch his breath as Cogsworth crawled out from under him. They’d landed between two bookshelves, but their entry point was a portrait hanging on the wall. Cogsworth had been catapulted through one of its eyes and Rumpelstiltskin the other. Just like them, the portrait had to recover from the ordeal. For a brief second, its face distorted into the image of a demonic monster even more hideous than Rumpelstiltskin. But in the next, it was the handsomest young man Cogsworth had ever seen.

“The famous Picture of Dorian Gray,” he thought. “It’s even more bewitching than it’s rumored to be.”

They rose to their feet and smoothed out their hair and clothes, trying to make themselves presentable again. Rumpelstiltskin removed a vial from inside his cloak and sipped its contents. It seemed to revive him, but Cogsworth declined when Rumpelstiltskin offered him some. After his stint with Zelena, he wouldn’t touch a drop of _any_ potion.

When they stepped out from between the bookshelves, they saw that the entire room was full of similarly paired shelves, presumably for other new arrivals. Two things were immediately apparent from the décor. Sebastian loved flowers, and he loved words. There was an abundance of both everywhere.

Directly in front of them was a sign that read: “At every moment of our lives, we all have one foot in a fairy tale and the other in the abyss.” Below that stood two large vases full of Jefferson’s peacock feathers. One was open at the top, and a sign on it read, “Welcome to our Land. Deposit your used portals here.”

The other was covered by sealed glass. It had not one, but two signs, over it. The top one read, “Designed by Jefferson Hatter and maintained by Sebastian Melmoth.” The bottom one read, “There is no sin except stupidity.”

“In other words,” thought Cogsworth, “Don’t be stupid and try to leave on your own.”

Their own feather portal was back in Fairy Land, so they walked past the vases and headed toward the stairs. Bookshelves lined the walls of the ground floor, too, but there was more open space for the customers to mill around in. The center of the room was dotted with tables, each one decorated with yet another vase, these full of fresh flowers, mostly tall, graceful lilies and bright, yellow sunflowers. Any customer who wasn’t browsing the shelves was sitting at a table, either reading, writing, or drinking from elegant Wedgwood china.

“What an eclectic collection!” exclaimed Rumpelstiltskin. Cogsworth knew he wasn’t commenting on the books. For him, as always, it was all about the magic.

Rumpelstiltskin led the way downstairs. All the customers stopped what they were doing to gawk at the strange green man. Some even ran out of the shop. But the man standing at the cash register in front greeted them with a welcoming smile. This must be the real Sebastian. He was almost as odd-looking as Rumpelstiltskin. His skin was a normal flesh tone, but his hair was nearly as long, and with a live flower in his lapel and a silver-tipped walking stick to lean on, he was even more of a dandy than Jefferson.

“Rumpelstiltskin, your reputation precedes you,” he said, offering his hand.

Rumpelstiltskin removed his gloves before returning the handshake. They disappeared into the endless storage space of his cloak. “As does yours, Sebastian,” he answered. “This is my associate, Professor Herbert Cogsworth.”

Sebastian turned to Cogsworth and shook his hand, too. “Welcome to Speranza’s,” he said. “A place of freedom, flowers, and books. Who could not be perfectly happy?”

Cogsworth stared at him. He’d had encounters with other men of a similar ilk. It was easy to detect someone sharing the same unspoken secret. Usually, they’d glance at one another and then break eye contact in mutual shame. Yet here stood a man with such confident openness, he was almost flirting. Cogsworth was electrified.

A customer walked over to the cash register. He was carrying a book to purchase, but it was obvious that all he really wanted was an introduction of his own.

" _My_ associate, Isaac Heller,” said Sebastian.

It was the same man that Rumpelstiltskin had revealed in his Dreamcatcher, but wearing a proper Victorian suit, not a peasant’s rags. Jefferson had told Cogsworth to expect him. He was the real mastermind behind getting them there.

“I’ve got a funny feeling I’m being followed,” said Isaac, offering his hand to Rumpelstiltskin.

“That’s what happens when you leave a portal in your wake,” answered Rumpelstiltskin, “but as I told you, I don’t do Cruella’s bidding. If anything, I’m of a mind to help you stay away from her.”

“Oh yeah?” said Isaac. He handed his card to Rumpelstiltskin, who studied it closely. Cogsworth had a vague idea of what he was doing. Rumpelstiltskin had the power of gleaning magic out of people’s names. It probably gave him a significant advantage in his deal-making. But what Rumpelstiltskin didn’t realize was that Isaac wasn’t just another audacious dupe walking into an ill-advised deal. As Cogsworth watched their exchange, he put on his best stony clockface. For once, someone was actually outsmarting Rumpelstiltskin. 

“And what brings you to this realm?” asked Isaac. “Jokes aside, I’m neither so vain or so paranoid as to think it’s all about me.”

Cogsworth bit his inner cheek to keep himself from breaking into a grin. So, he noticed, did Sebastian.

Rumpelstiltskin would not reveal his mission in front of the other customers, but the shop was emptying out quickly. Sebastian was quite right. Rumpelstiltskin’s reputation preceded him. Fear of the Dark One was buying him the privacy he craved. And the sudden loss of business didn’t seem to bother Sebastian. Rumpelstiltskin was probably Speranza’s biggest customer. They were about to get the royal treatment. As soon as everyone else had gone, the men sat at one of the tables. Sebastian brought over crystal stemware and a bottle of brandy.

“On the house,” he said. “Only the best at Speranza’s.”

They each swilled, sniffed, and sipped their drinks. It really was top quality.

"Our very own gentlemen’s club,” said Isaac. “Since none of us is likely to gain admittance into any others.”

Rumpelstiltskin was too eager to get down to business to comment on this. “I am here to meet Doctor Henry Jekyll,” he said. “What can you tell me about him?”

Isaac laughed. “Crackpot scientist. We’ve got a bunch of ‘em here.” Sebastian shot him a scolding look. “Present company, excepted, of course,” he added, raising his glass to Cogsworth. 

“Insult me all you like,” thought Cogsworth. “It’s worth it if I get to have Sebastian as my champion.”

“I see the professor’s reputation precedes him, too,” observed Rumpelstiltskin.

“Only through Jefferson,” said Sebastian. He turned his gaze toward Cogsworth. “You kept a low profile while you were here.”

“True,” replied Cogsworth, intending to keep it that way in front of Rumpelstiltskin. As far as he was concerned, Sebastian and Isaac were skating on dangerously thin ice. Rumpelstiltskin would eventually see through this set-up, and it was _his_ freedom on the line. But somehow, the two strangers read him correctly. He was so preoccupied with Doctor Jekyll, he was ignoring everything else.

“Jekyll is like almost everyone else in this realm,” said Sebastian. “Obsessed with propriety, and desperate for acceptance. He doesn’t realize: we’re all in the gutter. But some of us are looking at the stars.”

Sebastian gave Cogsworth a long, lingering look, as though _he_ were the star. “This man is as smooth and sweet as his brandy,” he thought.

“The trouble with this whole realm is black and white thinking,” said Isaac. “We might as well be in the Land Without Color. But really, the problem is everywhere. Heroes and villains. Light and dark. It’s so damned binary. Can’t anyone see? The answer is to blend, not divide.”

Since dividing himself was precisely what Rumpelstiltskin had come for, he had no patience for this. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I enjoy a philosophical discussion as much as anyone, but if you can’t give me more practical information, I do have other resources.” He clapped once, and his gloves reappeared on his hands.

“I understand how that thing works, you know,” said Isaac. “You were wearing it when you found me.”

The smug incredulity was written all over Rumpelstiltskin’s face. “You may have come to some correct conclusions, but don’t flatter yourself into thinking you know the full story.”

“Don’t flatter _your_ self,” thought Cogsworth.

“I know this much,” said Isaac. “All magic comes with a price. So I’ll save you the spell and tell you that Jekyll has three desires in life: to get his serum to work, to gain acceptance into Doctor Lydgate’s scientific academy, and to win over Lydgate’s daughter Mary.”

“Ah, unfulfilled ambition _and_ unrequited love,” said Rumpelstiltskin, “with one man exerting outsized control over both.”

“That about sums it up,” said Isaac. “You’ll find Jekyll in his lab. He’s _always_ in his lab. Two blocks to the left, top floor of the corner building.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked Isaac up and down. For whatever reason, he decided to trust him.

“For that alone,” he said, “I’ll shield you from Cruella.” He drained the last of his brandy, stood up, and took leave of them all with a “Till we meet again.” Then he walked out of the shop in the direction Isaac sent him. 

Out of habit, Cogsworth waited a few seconds until he was sure that Rumpelstiltskin was completely gone. The chances of his staying around to eavesdrop were low, especially when he had other plans to pursue, but Cogsworth had lived with him so long, his caution ran deep.

“Good,” he said, speaking up at last. “Now, can someone please explain what’s going on here? I’m very glad you arranged to bring me back, but I would like to understand why.”

Sebastian glanced at Isaac, who reached into his waistcoat pocket, took out a pen, and slammed it onto the table.

“I’m an Author,” said Isaac. “You and Rumpelstiltskin are characters. I wrote you here.”

“No,” said Cogsworth, eyeing the pen. “We came by portal.”

Isaac laughed. “I use any device at my disposal. Magic portal. Time machine. Whatever the rules of the realm, I’ll adopt them, and I especially love to mix ‘em up. But ultimately, it all comes down to my Pen. When I write it down, it becomes reality.”

Cogsworth looked from the pen to Isaac and back again. As a scientist and aspiring time traveler, he was generally prepared to accept the impossible as possible. Life had already forced it on him more than once. But that didn’t mean he was about to take Isaac at his word.

“Prove it,” he said.

Smiling proudly as though he anticipated the request, Isaac took a pad out of his pocket, scribbled something on the first page, tore it off, and handed it to Cogsworth. It read: _Sebastian will offer Cogsworth more brandy._

He looked up, and Sebastian was refilling his glass.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Cogsworth. “It was completely predictable. Or staged. By Jove, you two just coordinated my jump out of Rumpelstiltskin’s castle! Surely you don’t expect me to be impressed by a mere glass of brandy.”

“Oh, I can get complicated if you like,” said Isaac. He pulled his chair close to Cogsworth so that Sebastian could not see the words being written. 

_Dorian Gray will leave the portrait upstairs and give Sebastian sanction to move on with his life._

In the next second, the handsome young man of the portrait was a living, breathing human, walking down the stairs. He walked up to Sebastian, who stood for him reverently.

“I embody your highest ideals and your worst self-loathing,” said Dorian, as Isaac scribbled furiously. “My ending is tragic, but yours need not be. Trust in a brighter future.”

Sebastian was so moved, his eyes filled with tears. “Ah, well done, Isaac,” he murmured, as Dorian vanished back into the painting.

Isaac stopped writing, folded his arms, and looked over at Cogsworth triumphantly.

Cogsworth took a long swig of his brandy. Sebastian sat down beside him and patted his hand. “We knew you’d take the news better than any other character,” he said. “Most would just chalk it up to the liquor.”

“Or call me a liar,” said Isaac.

“Well, you can hardly blame them,” said Cogsworth. “Nobody wants to think they’re nothing but characters in a story.” He took another sip of his brandy.

“Nothing but characters?” said Sebastian. “Don’t sell yourself short, Professor.”

“Don’t sell our stories short, either,” said Isaac. “We become the stories we tell ourselves, and all our deeds are written in a book.”

As he said it, a wide, leather-bound book materialized on the table. Engraved in gold letters was its title: _Chronicles of Speranza’s_.

“Go ahead,” said Sebastian. “You must have a million questions.”

Cogsworth most certainly did, and it seemed the book contained the answers. He pulled it toward himself and began reading. The first page confused him because the picture was of Sebastian, but the text kept referring to someone called Oscar. Cogsworth soon gathered that Oscar was Sebastian’s original name. And more than that, he wasn’t native to this realm. He jumped in order to get there.

Cogsworth looked up from the book and considered the two men sitting before him. Anyone could see that Isaac came from elsewhere. The American accent, the futuristic slang. But Sebastian seemed as Victorian-born as Cogsworth himself. He was just bolder about defying expectations.

Cogsworth resumed reading. Oscar had been a fabulously successful writer in his own realm, but his happiness came to an abrupt end when he was sentenced to two years in prison for the crime of loving another man. The pictures of his cell at Reading Gaol were appalling. Cogsworth had gone from slavery under Zelena to indentured servitude with Rumpelstiltskin, but the labor forced upon him was always his own specialty, and the conditions of his daily life were more or less bearable. Oscar’s prison nearly destroyed him. He left it a broken man.

 _“Each man kills the thing he loves,”_ he wrote in a ballad poem upon his release. It was inspired by a fellow convict, a man who murdered his wife for her infidelity.

Cogsworth turned the page.

“That’s the most cynical take on love in all of literature,” the book read. The words were attributed to none other than Isaac.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” continued Isaac in the book. “You can revise your fate.”

Isaac then persuaded Oscar to jump to this realm where he could live among his own characters. To Oscar, that sounded too fantastic to be true, but he took a leap of faith. He faked his own death in his native realm, changed his name to Sebastian, and opened the bookshop. He never looked back with any regret, though he was still yearning for an even better future.

“He’s so much like me,” thought Cogsworth, “and yet, so different.”

The pages flipped forward, and now Cogsworth was looking at a picture of himself and Rumpelstiltskin bursting into the realm. The page afterward showed their moment of introduction to Sebastian and Isaac. The next showed the four of them around the table. And then there was one of this very moment, with only three of them at the table, while he was looking at the book. The pages after that were all blank.

“Those have yet to be written,” said Isaac, “but it’s shaping up to be a happy ending.”

Cogsworth’s head was reeling. “ _You_ wrote all that?” he asked Isaac.

“It’s a collaborative effort,” said Isaac. “Most characters take over their own stories. You’re a rational man. You should do fine with yours. It’s Rumpelstiltskin that I worry about. He causes me no end of headaches.”

“Did you. . . _create_ him?” asked Cogsworth. Somehow, it was easier to get the question out of his mouth when it was about someone else.

Isaac grinned. “Here’s where things get interesting. I _stole_ him. His original authors are a pair of brothers named Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. You may know them by their alias, Chamberlen.”

“They’re the ones who tried to steal Belle’s memory!” cried Cogsworth.

“Yeah. Because they’re fighting to get their story back. You see, the way I took over Rumpelstiltskin was by merging his story with Belle’s. But she’s so beloved a character, they couldn’t possibly get away with killing _her_ , so they tried to dumb her down instead. Then they got cocky. They asked Rumpelstiltskin to concoct the potion to do the deed.”

“For each man kills the thing he loves,” recited Sebastian. “I’m afraid they got the idea from my ballad.”

“I don’t hold it against you,” said Isaac. “I did it to Cruella in my way. But she had it coming.”

Cogsworth wasn’t interested in hearing about Isaac’s bygone love affair. “Did you create Belle or did you steal her, too?” he asked.

“Neither. I got permission. Belle’s Author is Gabrielle Villeneuve, and she agreed to collaborate with me. The romantic redemption of the monster was her idea, but she’s not particular about which monster gets used. I, on the other hand, have a vested interest in Rumpelstiltskin’s redemption.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because I take offense at what the Grimms created. He wasn’t a character; he was a caricature! Short, crooked in body and soul, with a long, funny name, and a magical ability to spin gold out of nothing – he’s the old European stereotype of the tricky Jew. Well, this Jew is going to have a trick on them. Rumpelstiltskin is a hidden holy man. That’s part of _my_ tradition.”

“As you see,” said Sebastian, “Isaac can get quite passionate about this.”

“I don’t keep the Torah anymore, but the lessons of my childhood have a funny way of coming back,” said Isaac. “Gabrielle’s romantic tale is becoming a parable about morality in my hands. Even my rabbi’s Yom Kippur sermon has made its way in. When the cleansing balm of forgiveness tempers the exacting force of justice, the scales are balanced, and that is true beauty.” He paused to savor his own words. Then chuckled to himself. “And Papa said I never listened in _shul_!”

Cogsworth was no longer following Isaac’s musings. He needed to understand his own fate. “Who’s _my_ Author?” he blurted out. He looked over at Sebastian. Perhaps his growing feelings were something greater than simple attraction. “Is it you?”

Sebastian shook his head. “I gave up my Pen to become a character in _your_ story,” he said. “And besides, my dear, eccentric scientist, you’ve appeared in so many different iterations by so many different Authors, you’re practically an archetype.”

“Yeah, totally fair use,” said Isaac. “It wasn’t even stealing to throw you in. Which makes it easier to give you a happy ending.”

“A happy ending,” thought Cogsworth, glancing shyly at Sebastian. He might never succeed with the Machine, but he would have love. “Why would you do that for me?” he asked. “Naturally, I’m grateful, but why?”

“Because,” answered Isaac, “just like you and Rumpelstiltskin, Sebastian and I made a deal.”

Sebastian nodded. “You’ve met Dorian, my masterpiece,” he said. “He remains here, preserved in eternal beauty, but Isaac took strong exception to one of my other characters.”

“Not a character. A caricature,” corrected Isaac. “A corrupter of innocent beauties, just like the Grimms want to paint Rumpelstiltskin. But it’s all right, Sebastian. You’ve made amends.”

Just then, that very character began walking down the stairs as Dorian Gray had. He fit Cogsworth's image of a typical Jew much more than Isaac did: fat, bearded, and wearing a shabby black suit.

Isaac clapped him on the shoulder. “Meet my namesake, Mister Isaacs,” he said. “Of course, we’re both namesakes of the Biblical patriarch, but anyway. . . Isaacs, meet Professor Cogsworth.”

“You must visit my theater some time, sir,” said Mister Isaacs, bowing obsequiously.

Cogsworth smiled politely, but he had absolutely no interest in doing any such thing. Fortunately, he was spared from continuing the awkward conversation. Mister Isaacs disappeared upstairs almost immediately.

“I closed his theater down long ago,” said Sebastian. “He doesn’t get out much anymore.”

“He was a minor character anyway. Easily forgotten.”

“Umm. . .” said Cogsworth, not seeing what any of this had to do with him.

Sebastian saw his confusion and began to explain. “You see, I agreed to help Isaac in his project of repairing the anti-Semitic stereotypes. In return, he fights homophobia with me. And that included bringing you here.”

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match,” sang Isaac.

Cogsworth had never heard the song, and he only understood the word “matchmaker” from context, but in the whole muddle of futuristic terms these two were bandying about, the word “homophobia” stood out. Cogsworth had learned it in the course of his research into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. And since he’d conducted most of that in Rumpelstiltskin’s castle, he realized the books he’d gotten hold of must have come through Speranza’s first. 

“Boy, do I feel like a third wheel all of a sudden!” declared Isaac, getting up to leave. He put on his hat and gloves and walked to the door. Then he spun back around and grinned. “Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen. You’re the lucky ones. Remember: every story of star-crossed lovers needs a stable, secondary romance for contrast. See ya!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Isaac states, all our deeds are written in a book. It's actually a Jewish teaching from the Sayings of the Fathers, Chapter 2, Paragraph 1. Kitsis and Horowitz are also Jewish, but I'm not sure if they're aware of it.


	19. The Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter, I introduced the Victorian author, Oscar Wilde a/k/a Sebastian Melmoth. Verses from his poem “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” are coming. In this chapter, I’m introducing another Victorian author, but you may need some background information to recognize her. Her birth name was Mary Ann Evans, and she changed the spelling to “Marian,” but her pen name was George Eliot, which she invented in tribute to her all-but-lawfully-wedded husband, George Lewes (“to George EL-I-Owe-iT.) There are two references to Eliot’s work in OUAT, which is why I’ve given her a role. First, “Doctor Lydgate” is the name of a character in her masterpiece, _Middlemarch_ , though I don’t think it’s the *same* Doctor Lydgate. Second, I’m convinced that the character of “the weaver” in Season 7 came from Eliot’s most famous book, _Silas Marner, the Weaver of Raveloe_. I’ll explain more about that in the next chapter. Eliot’s final work was _Daniel Deronda_ , the most pro-Semitic novel in all of British literature. Isaac and I are grateful to the one Victorian author who so beautifully redeemed our people’s image.

“That Isaac Heller is a character if ever there was one,” thought Rumpelstiltskin as he walked the two blocks to Jekyll’s lab. The Name on his card gave off such a confusing message that Rumpelstiltskin had to conclude that the real source of magic was not in the man in himself, but in some object he was carrying. Ordinarily, that would call for a longer chat so he could determine a worthwhile trade, but his Inner Seer told him that a better opportunity would present itself in the future. For now, he must focus on what he’d come for.

When he arrived at [Jekyll’s lab,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rGMODTnFKQ&t=46s) he was pleased to see it was more like his own lab than Viktor’s. All chemicals and test tubes, and no human body parts. But while Jekyll might be as obsessive as Viktor – all the mad scientists were – at the moment, he was distracted. He was pacing around nervously, only pausing to stare absently out of the round window overlooking the busy city below.

“He must be the most oblivious man in the realm,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, walking into the lab unnoticed. He snapped himself invisible anyway. Either Jekyll would rouse himself or someone else would come along and do it, and Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t ready to let himself be seen.

A young woman knocked on the door before letting herself in. The look on Jekyll’s face told the whole story. He was smitten.

“Thank you for arranging this, Mary,” he said, as she straightened his bowtie for him. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

“There’s no need to be nervous,” she assured him. “Father is going to love your work.”

“Not just pretty, but kind-hearted and intellectually inclined,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. Their taste in women was the same, which meant Jekyll was the perfect guinea pig. If the serum could make a man out of this jittery jellyfish, his own chances looked promising.

Mary’s father entered. Though a proper and well-dressed gentleman, he was completely bald and had a paunch. Clearly, Mary inherited her beauty from her mother.

Father and daughter greeted each other with a kiss. Doctor Lydgate acknowledged the younger man with cold civility. Then, he dropped all pretenses and didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “Now what was so important that I was called away from scotch and cards at the Academy?”

“Ah, allow me to show you,” said Jekyll, performing with more _savoir faire_ than Rumpelstiltskin expected of him. He grasped a test tube of turquoise liquid. “This serum, once perfected, will be capable of separating a man’s personality in two, dividing the higher, more noble aspects of his nature from the primitive beast of which every man is born.”

“Intriguing,” said Doctor Lydgate, though he couldn’t have looked more bored.

“Imagine if man were in control of the beast within, rather than slave to it,” Jekyll enthused.

“Yes, imagine,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. His Darkness would serve his Light side, and both would be satisfied.

“How can you be certain your serum wouldn’t make things worse?” asked Lydgate.

Oh, that small-minded cretin! Rumpelstiltskin would have double the pleasure in helping Jekyll now, just so he could watch Lydgate eat crow.

“It can’t get any worse for Henry’s patients,” put in the gentle Mary. “They have no hope at all.”

“Probably as hopeless as the old spinner,” thought Rumpelstiltskin.

“Doctor Lydgate, if I had the Scientific Academy behind my work –“

Lydgate wouldn’t let him finish. “So _that’s_ what this is about. You want me to grant you membership into the Academy. Well, I’m afraid I can’t offer it. Your work is _dangerous_. Good evening, Doctor Jekyll. Come, Mary.”

Obedient daughter that she was, Mary followed her father. But she did not leave without a small parting gift of consolation for Jekyll. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

Even in this non-magical realm, Word Magic worked. Rumpelstiltskin could feel how sincerely she meant it. Jekyll must have felt it, too, but it wasn’t enough. Frustrated, he threw the test tube into the fireplace.

“Looks like someone’s lost control of his inner beast,” said Rumpelstiltskin, revealing himself.

Jekyll turned around and gaped at him. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

He giggled. “It doesn’t matter, dearie. But what does is that unlike that blowhard Lydgate, _I_ am here to help you.” He got close to Jekyll, and like Mary, straightened his bowtie. 

Horrified, Jekyll pulled away. “I don’t even know you!” he cried. “Why would you help me?”

He was exactly like Cogsworth when they first met. Repulsed by his oddness and risk averse by nature, but too deeply in need of his help to turn him away. 

“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your work. Now, do you want to get into that club or not?”

Of course, he did. But, as he explained, the serum wasn’t finished. He was having trouble getting the active particles to suspend, and . . .

Rumpelstiltskin passed his hand over the beaker. The active particles dissolved, and the solution went from murky to clear. “All science needs is a little magic,” he said.

Now the easy part was done. The next step required more delicacy. He turned his back on Jekyll and walked slowly toward the window, but he kept on talking. Even without looking behind him, he could tell Jekyll was hanging on his every word. “Now, if we can just get that pwetty young fwiend of yours to finally notice you.”

“You mean Mary?”

“Who else, you dolt?” thought Rumpelstiltskin, but he kept his impatience under wraps. After all, he understood the man’s insecurity. Winning over her love – was it all too much to hope for?

“Ooh, she’s right within your grasp,” he chirped, turning back around. “The question is: how far are you willing to go to get what you want?”

Jekyll understood. He knew exactly what he had to do. Rally his inner beast and command its help in fulfilling his desires. And so, the timid Jekyll did the unthinkable. He took a risk and drank his own serum.

The transformation hurt him. Rumpelstiltskin knew it would. All magic came with a price, and when the effect was physical, the price was often pain. Jekyll choked, fell to his knees, and wailed like a mother in childbirth, but in the end, a whole new man was sitting in his place on the floor. Taller, broader, and arguably more handsome, though one had to overlook his bloodshot eyes and the scar running down his cheek.

“You could pass yourself off as a veteran soldier,” Rumpelstiltskin told him, as he rose from the floor and straightened himself up to his full height. He cut an impressive figure. “Warriors are celebrated as heroes here, just like in every other realm,” Rumpelstiltskin went on. “The ones they deem valiant are afforded great favor. It’s the only time the public can find it within themselves to tolerate war’s unsightly wounds.”

Bitterly, he patted his own once-injured leg.

The new Jekyll stared at him blankly. He had no way of knowing how drastically he’d changed. That would come soon enough. First, they must use Jekyll’s knowledge and memories to plan their next step.

“So, now that we’ve dispensed with _your_ weaknesses,” said Rumpelstiltskin, “tell me about Lydgate’s. What skeletons lurk in his closet?”

The new Jekyll answered in his deeper, more sonorous voice. “He’s having an affair with his lab assistant. She’s as young as Mary!”

It would have sounded like a scandalized squeak coming from Jekyll. Not so with this new man.

“Perfect,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “ _That_ is your ticket into the Academy.”

The prospect of blackmailing the man who held such power over him would have terrified Jekyll. His alter ego couldn’t wait to get started. He knew exactly which party the Lydgates were attending that night, so he led Rumpelstiltskin through the cobblestone streets of the city. They walked so quickly, they almost matched the pace of the clopping horse hooves pulling carriages along beside them. Street urchins called to them from the alleyways, begging them for spare coins, but as they neared a grander neighborhood, the urchins were replaced by cleaner, more genteel folk who lived in posh homes.

Butlers flanked the door of the townhouse where the party was being held. Rumpelstiltskin had to go invisible to get past them. He reappeared again when he and Jekyll’s monster were alone [in the foyer.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnOyw0L-1Tw)

“I don’t feel like the same man,” murmured the monster. Then he got his first glimpse of himself in the mirror “I don’t _look_ like him either!” He stared at his reflection in amazement, touching his new face and broader chest.

“Because you’re _not_ the same man,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “In fact, you’re not a man at all, really. You’re parts of a man, the parts that Jekyll wanted to hide from the world.” Then a little inspiration hit. “Perhaps that’s what you should call yourself! Mister Hyde.” 

“Mister Hyde,” he repeated. “I like it.”

“Good. Because once again, it’s time for _me_ to hide,” said Rumpelstiltskin, snapping himself invisible. “No need to be nervous. I’m right behind you.”

Unlike his counterpart, Mister Hyde overcame his nerves quickly. Though the fashionable guests seemed to intimidate him at first, he walked right up to the Lydgates and introduced himself with his new name, even giving Mary a courtly kiss on the hand. But the delicious part was watching him strongarm Lydgate without lifting a finger. One minute Lydgate was calling him a “ruffian,” and in the next he was squirming as Hyde pointed out his mistress. Jekyll would have the Academy pin by the end of the night. 

Their object nearly achieved, Rumpelstiltskin saw no reason to keep hovering around Hyde. He mingled silently among the other guests instead. He might as well start learning the rules of this realm. Soon he would be able to fulfill his promise to Belle. He’d bring her to a party just like this one. She’d outshine every woman in the room in her green gown! And he’d finally make up for their last clumsy dance.

The next guests to walk in were none other than Cogsworth and Sebastian. The two of them were so engrossed in their own conversation, they seemed to have left the rest of the world behind. They might as well have stayed in the bookshop.

“Or in the privacy of home,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, as Cogsworth’s secret finally dawned on him. All that time together, and he never once suspected it! So the dream of reaching a more advanced future wasn’t _only_ about science. Cogsworth, like everyone else, was after love and acceptance. He wanted to live in a time when all forms of love were respected, and even celebrated.

Rumpelstiltskin recalled a phrase from his twenty-first century research: “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” He looked over at Sebastian. He was not a particularly handsome man, but he had _style_. He left his hair long, which Rumpelstiltskin also preferred doing, but what really caught his fancy was Sebastian’s silver-tipped walking stick. Looking around, he noticed that many gentlemen in this realm used them, and they all looked distinguished.

“If my limp returns after I split,” he told himself, “I will get one, too, but _my_ handle will be covered in gold.”

He watched Hyde lead Mary to the next dance set and imagined himself and Belle gliding together alongside them. “How will I dance with the walking stick?” he wondered. It was his first doubt of the evening. The mere thought of it made his leg twinge in pain. He found a chair and sat down.

Next, Isaac entered the party. He glanced over at Cogsworth and Sebastian, smirked, and left them to themselves. He then crossed the room, got himself a drink, and carried it over to where Rumpelstiltskin was sitting. He took the empty chair right beside him.

“He can see me,” Rumpelstiltskin realized. “What _is_ the source of his magic?”

“Man, these Victorian parties are a bore,” said Isaac. “Now Gatsby’s – that’s a scene! Cruella used to love it. But it looks like I’ll be staying in this realm a while longer.”

Rumpelstiltskin had no idea who or where in the realms Gatsby’s was, but if Cruella loved it, he wasn't interested. “To everyone else in this room, you appear to be talking to yourself,” he murmured. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

“Nah. Everyone knows I’m a rascal. They might as well write me off as a madman, too.”

“A drunk, more likely,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, as Isaac guzzled down the contents of his wineglass. 

Lydgate was now deep in conversation with a gentleman who looked very much like him, though with more hair and less weight. The two of them scrutinized Hyde as he was dancing with Mary. They leaned in close to one another, as if sharing something they didn’t want anyone to overhear. 

“Lydgate’s brother Tertius,” said Isaac. “Also a doctor. A much better one, really. He keeps himself busy treating actual patients, so he doesn’t have time for the Academy.”

“A worthier younger brother,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, weighing that tidbit of information. Hyde seemed to have enough dirt on Lydgate already, but it was always good policy to know as many of your adversary’s weaknesses as possible. 

“Tertius is from Middlemarch,” Isaac continued. “Have you heard of it?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Rumpelstiltskin. Belle had read up on its history. She described the book on it as “a study of provincial life in the Victorian realm.” Rumpelstiltskin generally tried to keep up with Belle’s reading, but she outpaced him with that nine-hundred paged tome. Rather poor foresight on his part, now that Fate had brought him here. He mentally added Middlemarch to the list of places he’d take Belle to see after his split.

“Plenty of people will tell you Middlemarch is boring, but that only goes to show how little they know. The town is just like its Author. It might _look_ conventional, but it defies the rules. Ah, and there’s the Author herself! Brilliant woman. Greatest talent in the realm, if you ask me.”

An unremarkable couple in late middle age walked into the party. “ _She’_ s an Author?” said Rumpelstiltskin. He knew very little about the cloistered Authors and their unique powers, but he was always fascinated by any magic beyond his own expertise. And Isaac was full of inside information that he seemed to love showing off. He was the polar opposite of Cogsworth that way, as loose-lipped as the other was buttoned up. But Isaac’s lack of discretion would be Rumpelstiltskin’s gain. “Aren’t Authors forbidden from interacting with ordinary people?” he asked.

“Technically, yes,“ said Isaac, “but like you, Mrs. Lewes is keeping tabs on Arthur Lydgate. Tertius is hers, but nobody knows where his villainous older brother came from. Gotta watch out for those knockoffs!”

Rumpelstiltskin puzzled over the strange term. He was quickly learning that talking to Isaac was giving his vocabulary a stretch. His non-magical research taught him about knockoff _products,_ but never in all his reading had he heard of a knockoff _person_.

Isaac did not bother to explain himself, but it hardly seemed important with his next suggestion. “C’mon. Let’s go say hello.”

And so, remaining silent and invisible, Rumpelstiltskin followed Isaac across the room for his very first encounter with an Author.

“George and George, how are ya?” Isaac boomed, shaking hands with both husband and wife. Apparently, it was a long-standing joke to call each of them “George.” But as the conversation soon revealed, the Author’s _real_ Name was Marian.

“The derivative’s looking a little sour tonight,” she observed, glancing at Doctor Lydgate. “But I’m glad to see Mary enjoying herself. I feel a real affinity for her, even though she’s no more mine than her father is.”

Rumpelstiltskin listened to Mrs. Lewes with rapt interest. The term “derivative” was as baffling a phrase as “knockoff,” but what really piqued his curiosity was her relationship with _people_. What did that mean: Tertius was hers, but Mary and her father weren’t? He knew Authors were appointed by the Sorcerer. Were they also assigned people to write about, like fairy godmothers blessing and guarding their charges? If so, who was _his_ Author? And would he or she be open to a deal?

In his musings, Rumpelstiltskin lost track of the conversation. When his focus returned, Isaac and the Leweses were no longer talking about the Lydgates, but a couple named Deronda who were traveling in the East.

“Ah, the Holy Land!” sighed Isaac. “I hope I’m worthy to get to there someday. It was my Papa’s dearest wish.”

“It’s easy enough to arrange,” said Mrs. Lewes. “I’ll write Daniel. He’d be honored to host you.”

“I need to finish my current project first,” said Isaac, tilting his head slightly in Rumpelstiltskin’s direction. Mister Lewes did not take notice, but Mrs. Lewes smiled directly at him. Like Isaac, it seemed she could see through his invisibility spell. “The weaver,” she said.

“Indeed,” said Isaac.

Rumpelstiltskin was a spinner, not a weaver, but he knew magic when it was used on him. Naturally, Author Magic worked with Words. And Mrs. Lewes’ misnomer sunk in as though she were a prophesied maid pronouncing his Name correctly. He felt Light but strong all at once, just like on that triumphant day when he ended the Ogres War. He was becoming the man he hoped to be for Belle.

“She’s my Author, and she’s written my future!” Rumpelstiltskin inwardly rejoiced. “My experiment will succeed!”

He looked over at Hyde. Towering above the other dancers with his scarred face aglow, he looked as though his heart was soaring as high as Rumpelstiltskin’s. As the musicians played the concluding notes of the minuet, Hyde bowed gracefully to Mary. Then he gallantly escorted her back to her father and chose his next partner – the lab assistant. The good doctor looked like he swallowed a frog.

It should have been a moment to gloat over. Hyde’s instincts were spot on. Yet because of Mrs. Lewes’ extraordinary effect on him, Rumpelstiltskin was blocked from enjoying it. “I’ve unleashed a monster,” he realized in disgust. 

The contradictory feelings were suddenly too much to bear. Another second in that place and he thought he might suffocate! He fled the party, running through the streets to the nearest open space, an almost vacant park. Sprinting through the grass and trees, he finally stopped when he felt a wave of magic wash over him, the strongest he’d felt in this realm outside Speranza’s.

He was standing on top of a stone footbridge. It was so picturesque, it had to be a favorite haunt for romantic couples. Given the realm’s priggish values, probably the site of many a clandestine rendezvous. And since there were no curses to break here, the limitless magic of true love’s kiss was hanging as thick in the air as the night fog.

Wanting the place to himself, Rumpelstiltskin went visible again. The sight of his monstrous self would be enough to scare anyone away.

“Reul Ghorm,” he called out in desperation. “Have you followed me here?”

She did not answer. Instead, an echo of her old admonition rang in his ear. “That gauntlet will only lead to misery.”

“That gauntlet led me here,” his mind retorted.

Lydgate’s warning to Jekyll followed. “How can you be sure you won’t make things worse?” Was that only an hour ago?

Last came Belle, voicing her sweet concern over his journey. “I don’t know, Rumple. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“No!” he thought. “I did this for _her_. It has to work!”

He’d come too far and at too great an expense to abandon the experiment now. It wasn’t even halfway through.

He almost had himself persuaded, but then he saw the worst omen yet. The Chamberlen Brothers, the two “doctors” who cemented Belle’s distrust of all medical men, were walking up the bridge. So _this_ was where they disappeared to after he cursed them!

“Rumpelstiltskin,” said Jacob, the older of the brothers.

He had not heard his Name pronounced with such derision since he was a powerless peasant. It blared with the distant but never forgotten bark of “Kiss my boot!” Suddenly, his mind filled with the image and sound of thousands of soldiers marching, their boots pounding in ruthless unison. It chilled him to his core.

But just when he thought his mood could sink no lower, the brothers began reciting poetry - the grimmest verses he’d ever been forced to listen to.

“ _Yet each man kills the thing he loves. By each let this be heard_ ,” Wilhelm began.

“ _Some do it with a bitter look. Some with a flattering word_ ,” Jacob continued.

Rumpelstiltskin clamped his hands over his ears. The Word Magic seized him like cold, clammy fingers. Where did they learn to torment him this way, using that specific memory? He felt like he was reliving the moment, back on the Jolly Roger with Milah’s heart pulsating in his hand. All the humiliation of her infidelity with Hook, all his rage at her for leaving Bae motherless, whirled against him like the biting sea air. He felt his fingers close around that callous heart of hers. He crushed it into inconsequential dust and let the specks scatter in the wind.

“Get yourself out of here!” commanded a voice in his head.

Rumpelstiltskin obeyed it immediately. With a snap of his fingers, he was back in the sterile safety of Jekyll’s lab.

“This will not do at all!” he chastised himself, pacing around the room. The Chamberlens had never gotten the better of him before. Where had they learned such vivid Word Magic? And why should it work so well in this unmagical Land? Nothing here made any sense. There was only one thing he was sure of: the Chamberlens were in touch with Hook. Only he and his crew were witness to the Darkest of all his Dark deeds – killing the one he loved.

He needed to get rid of all this excess emotion. It would make for powerful magic, but it was sheer distraction in science. He grasped hold of one of Jekyll’s empty beakers and focused all his anguish into it. It filled with a thick, viscous, liquid. He stoppered the beaker and let it disappear into his cloak. He would use it in some potion or other when the need arose. Probably on the Chamberlens.

“And now I am a scientist,” he declared. Cold and clinical. He was ready for Hyde's return.


	20. The Strange Case of Rumpelstiltskin the Savior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you’ve met Mrs. Marian Lewes a/k/a George Eliot, I will explain more about _Silas Marner, the Weaver of Raveloe_. The title character is a loner and misanthrope whose life begins to change when he adopts a golden-haired foundling child. He raises her to marriageable age, and by the end of the novel, he has emerged from bitterness to a happy ending. I believe the character of “the Weaver” is based on him, and the golden-haired girl is Alice/Tilly. Just to bring things full circle, Alice’s doctor in OUAT Wonderland was none other than Arthur Lydgate. (There’s a fanfic waiting to happen.) If you want to review the moment when _Silas Marner_ landed in Belle’s library, please go back to Chapter 12: Mind Magic, and do a search on the word “pardon.” 
> 
> Another Victorian author I include in this chapter is Robert Louis Stevenson. He is the original author of _The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde_ , as well as _Kidnapped_ and _Treasure Island_.

Though Isaac was taken aback when Rumpelstiltskin bolted from the party, he considered it a favorable sign. Marian really got under his skin by calling him “the weaver.”

“I think your plotline is going to work,” he told her. “The misanthrope will be redeemed.”

“I had confidence from the moment his wish brought _Silas Marner_ into Belle’s library,” she replied.

Isaac remembered it perfectly. It happened right after Beauty and the Beast had their first dance. Both of them were scared, and neither was prepared, but most important of all, Book Magic was in play. It was more powerful than all of them put together.

Belle was thrown off by how deeply Rumpelstiltskin could plumb her imagination. But once she got over her suspicion that he was merely poking fun at her, her brief outburst blinked out as quickly as a candle flame. Rumpelstiltskin, for his part, was so contrite, he created a surplus of goodwill that would stand him in good stead in the future. As long as he performed acts of generosity like Silas Marner, the Weaver of Raveloe, that character would merge into his, and he’d have his happy ending.

So even though it was a pain in the _tuchus_ , Isaac followed Rumpelstiltskin out of the party and chased after him through the streets of London. Panting when he finally caught up, he was relieved that their romp ended at the stone footbridge in the park, and not just because he was worn out. Everyone in the city knew it was Lovers’ Lane, even if they didn’t call it that. It was the ideal setting, and Rumpelstiltskin’s magical instincts led him right to it.

Isaac hid in the fog and took out his Pen. He watched in awe as Rumpelstiltskin called out to Reul Ghorm. The Agent of Justice was appealing to the Agent of Mercy. When they achieved proper balance, Beauty would prevail. But Reul Ghorm would not manifest here. She belonged to Fairy Land. She could also ascend to the Heavenly Realm when called, but in a largely unmagical place like this, she only appeared in dreams and memories.

The Pen recorded Rumpelstiltskin’s inner thoughts. Isaac let it write of its own accord. Pangs of conscience had to arise from the Character. They could not be manipulated. And though Isaac had broken plenty of rules, not the least of which was enticing Rumpelstiltskin into this realm, he was absolutely above board when it came to that one. He was attempting as complicated a redemption story as any Author he knew. The Sorcerer would have no complaints, as long as he delivered on his promise in the end. 

So, standing in the shadowy sideline, Isaac congratulated himself. Everything was going according to plan. At least it seemed like it was. . . until the Grimms showed up.

They were armed and ready to fight. They started by cutting Rumpelstiltskin down by using the original Name as they conceived it. Imbued with their contempt, it conjured the image of thousands of goose-stepping troops, unnerving Isaac even more than Rumpelstiltskin because he knew the historical context.

Their next chosen weapon was Sebastian’s bitter anti-love ballad. _Each man kills the thing he loves_. They got two verses in before Isaac wrote Rumpelstiltskin back to Jekyll’s lab. Jacob kept up the recitation even after he was gone.

“ _The coward does it with a kiss._ _The brave man with a sword!_ ”

“Love isn’t cowardly, and violence isn’t brave!” Isaac shouted.

“Ah, Mister _Hell_ -er,” said Wilhelm, as though they’d just stumbled across one another. The emphasis on the “hell” in his surname hit with all the fire and brimstone they intended. Isaac was seething.

“If you object to those words, then take it up with your friend Mister Wilde. _He_ wrote them,” said Jacob.

“At the lowest point in his life,” said Isaac. “Anyway, that ballad is a cautionary tale.”

“And we, too, write cautionary tales,” said Wilhelm.

“Yes,” agreed Jacob. “The theme of this one is: if you show a corrupt man some love, he inevitably destroys it.”

“He’s not a corrupt man! He’s more law-abiding than you or me!” shouted Isaac.

“Yes, yes, we’ve been through this before,” said Wilhelm, cueing Jacob that they should tell over Isaac’s story by turns, just as they’d recited Sebastian’s ballad.

“Peace-loving Rumpelstiltskin was a Savior so Light, he absorbed the Dark Power, thereby sparing everyone else in the world from bearing the terrible burden,” Jacob began.

Wilhelm picked up in the same patronizing tone. “And now that he contains the Power, he wields it wisely, reserving his cruelty for the cruel and his treachery for the dishonest.”

“But the hidden holy man actually _rewards_ the righteous! He just does it in such a way that nobody can see.”

“Except for Belle, the maiden clear of vision, sharp of mind, and pure of heart.”

Then the brothers burst out laughing. They even pounded each other on the back, as though the joke were too much to take.

“You do realize nobody understands you,” said Wilhelm. “A heroic Rumpelstiltskin is such a contradiction in terms, he makes no sense!”

“And don’t deceive yourself into thinking people respect Belle, either. Nobody believes she’s truly intelligent. The opposite - she’s gullible!”

“Readers want pitched battles where the heroes win, the villains lose, and the lines between them never blur.”

“But that’s not human nature,” said Isaac.

He folded his arms and glared at the Grimms. Inside, though, he knew they had a point. His message _was_ lost on most people. It was the reason he felt the need to throw Wu Long into the plot. If people couldn’t understand the balance between justice and mercy, perhaps they’d understand it as yin-yang. But he wasn’t about to show his doubts to these two anti-Semites.

“Why do you persist in this battle over our character anyway?” asked Jacob. “We notice you haven’t gone after Shylock or Fagin.”

“Oh, I’ll be getting to them!” said Isaac. 

The brothers laughed at his brazenness. “You think you’re so clever with all your pastiche, Mister _Hell_ -er. But you’re not the only one who can work with collaborators.”

Like a cat momentarily releasing its paw from the tail of a trapped mouse, the Grimms fixed Isaac with a supercilious smile and went silent as he worked out what they’d been up to.

“Stevenson’s on _their s_ ide!” he realized. How could he have missed it? The Grimms’ fingerprints were all over this! They’d played him completely.

When Stevenson sought Isaac out at Speranza’s, he seemed trustworthy enough. Sure, he had an axe to grind, but so did Isaac. That only made him _more_ sympathetic. Stevenson’s grudge was against Hook. He considered the pirate complicit in the death of own pirate villain, Long John Silver.

“I’ve heard how you operate,” said Stevenson, “appropriating characters and changing their plotlines. Well, what do you say to this? Your Rumpelstiltskin can release my Hyde, and we’ll send him after Hook.”

Isaac didn’t give a damn about Hook. Every pirate on the high seas could walk the plank for all he cared. But Stevenson’s plot twist intrigued him.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he reasoned, accepting the new collaborator.

How would he reconcile the revenge plot with the redemption story? He decided to figure that part out later. Stupid mistake. The first among many.

“ _Kidnapped,_ ” thought Isaac bitterly. That plot came from Stevenson, too. He said he came across the gauntlet in Arthurian legend. Isaac was so enthralled by its powers, he didn’t bother to double check. Like Rumpelstiltskin, he could never resist a new device. And this one could lead Rumpelstiltskin directly to him. All he had to do was deploy Cruella’s weakness for him and let it point the way. Then he’d get an almost-impromptu meeting with his Character. It bent the rules, but it didn’t break them.

Cruella and her friends executed the kidnapping, but the character designated to initiate the plot was Regina. It was so obvious a choice, Isaac didn’t question it when Stevenson suggested it. Nor did he think it was a problem to use her, even though she also belonged to the Grimms. After all, everything he’d ever done with her conformed to _their_ vision. Another error on his part. He underestimated their resentment. Mess with one of their characters, you might as well have messed with them all. 

But the kidnapping episode _had_ strengthened the love story. That was why Isaac trusted in it until now. It turned Rumpelstiltskin into Belle’s hero. She couldn’t deny her growing feelings for him after that, at least not to herself.

“If anyone’s going to crush your heart, it’s going to be me!” quoted Wilhelm, breaking the silence and reminding Isaac of Rumpelstiltskin’s abusive words. The beachside scene came right back to him. True Love’s Kiss might have happened then, if only Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t so boorishly pushed Belle away.

“You put that line in his mouth!” he accused.

“Not us. That came from the Character himself.”

“Such a loving man!”

The brothers must have decided they’d won because they linked arms and began walking away. Once again, they took turns reciting the next stanza of Sebastian’s ballad.

“ _Some kill their love when they are young, and some when they are old_.”

“ _Some strangle with the hands of Lust, some with the hands of Gold_.”

“ _The kindest use a knife because the dead so soon grow cold_.”

Isaac’s insides were growing cold, too. He couldn’t let things end on that gruesome note. He quoted the Psalms to the brothers’ backs. “ _The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone_!” And then, just because he could, he sang it in the original Hebrew, using the tune his Papa favored at the Passover _seder_.

For a moment, Isaac felt the redemptive theme resurge. The Talmudic lore on love and marriage came back, too. It was the root of his story, and it was much deeper than it appeared. 

“What has G-d been busy with since Creation?” the Roman matron asked the Sage.

“He is occupied in making marriages,” the Sage answered.

“ _The levity of the saying lies in the ear of him who hears it_ ,” cried Isaac, quoting Marian’s words near the end of _Deronda_. His voice swelled as he reached the philosophical coda: “ _For by marriages, the speaker meant all the wondrous combinations of the universe whose issue makes our good and evil.”_

The brothers had gone too far away to hear him by then, but he didn’t care. The Pen had written it down. Good and evil. Justice and mercy. Light and Dark. Man and woman. Yin and yang. They were all meant to “marry” by coming together in harmonizing balance.

But despite his rhapsodic finish, Isaac knew the battle was far from over. The Jekyll/Hyde chapter was shaping up the Grimms’ way. Every line of Sebastian’s ballad was morphing Rumpelstiltskin into a worse monster. The Grimms didn’t just want their trickster back. They wanted him disgraced beyond repair.

“It’s more than just psychological torture,” thought Isaac. “They’re using that ballad as a motif!”

Each man would kill the one he loved. They were pointing Rumpelstiltskin toward murder.

Isaac needed to regain control of Rumpelstiltskin right away. Jekyll, too. Both Belle _and_ Mary were in mortal danger!

* * *

When Hyde returned to the lab, he was showing off the Academy pin he’d coerced out of Lydgate. He was so euphoric, Rumpelstiltskin thought he might burst out singing at any moment. To spare himself the agony of listening to someone else’s joy, he knocked Hyde out with a loud clap of his hands. Hyde’s enormously long legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the couch, snoring.

Rumpelstiltskin sat down beside him and observed the unconscious figure with pure detachment. When the serum began wearing off and Hyde’s features disappeared, Jekyll did not even stir, not so much as a whimper. Becoming a monster was painful, but becoming a normal man again seemed to be effortless.

The retransformation restored Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve. Those voices in the park were just the inner churnings of his frightened mind. They were born of weakness, and he must ignore them. And chancing across the Chamberlen brothers at that particular moment was also meaningless. He’d cursed them, so naturally they were pursuing him, plotting their revenge. But he could deal with them _after_ the split. For now, he must concentrate on the mission at hand: getting Jekyll to capture the heart of his beloved Mary.

“Rise and shine!” he shouted, startling Jekyll awake. “My, my, someone had quite the night.”

Jekyll sat up and immediately became self-conscious. “I did? What happened?”

“He doesn’t remember a thing,” noted Rumpelstiltskin. As much as Jekyll wanted to hide his inner monster from the rest of the world, he hid Hyde from himself most of all.

“Check your pockets,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

Jekyll did and found the Academy pin. “I did it!” he exclaimed.

“Well, it seems your other half can be quite persuasive.”

Just like Hyde, Jekyll was euphoric. “It worked! Do you know what this means? Everything’s going to be different now.”

“I’m counting on it,” thought Rumpelstiltskin. They were getting closer by the hour. “There’s just one thing missing,” he reminded Jekyll. 

“You mean Mary.”

His voice grew low when he said her name. Where she was concerned, Jekyll had even less confidence than he did about the serum. Rumpelstiltskin understood him through and through.

“Why don’t you just swig some more of that serum and let Mister Hyde do the talking for you?”

“Mister Hyde?” Jekyll repeated. “My other half has a name?” He didn’t like the sound of it. Suddenly, he was beginning to have second thoughts about his benefactor. “Why do you care if I end up with Mary? You still haven’t explained what you want.”

Was this man blind? Couldn’t he see the grotesque, green-skinned monster standing before him? More likely, it was beyond his imagination that there was a bona fide human being trapped inside.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m interested in the serum.”

“Why?”

“BECAUSE I NEED IT!” Rumpelstiltskin thundered, grabbing Jekyll by the throat.

Jekyll cowered in terror. Rumpelstiltskin loosened his grip. What had come over him? He _needed_ Jekyll. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Calming his voice, he began again. “Now, one success means nothing, but two? Then we’d know you have something. So what do you say, Doctor Jekyll? Are you ready to let Mister Hyde back out to play?”

Jekyll nodded weakly.

“Good,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Let’s speed things up then, shall we?” He snapped his fingers, and the sunny sky turned dark.

“How did you -?”

“Never mind that,” said Rumpelstiltskin, pouring him a beaker of the serum. “Drink up.”

Jekyll obeyed. He fell to his knees screaming again, but when he stood up, he was the freakish yet dashing Hyde, ready to take on the world.

“How will we find Mary?” he asked. “She could be anywhere in the city, especially now that you’ve, um, made it night again.” 

“I know just the place!” said Rumpelstiltskin, snapping them to [the stone footbridge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5hrE20nGj4&t=21s) in the park. The fog was even thicker than the previous night, a perfect cover as they lay in wait. 

“As you will see, Mr. Hyde, I have a vast array of tools at my fingertips.” He clapped, and his gauntlet appeared on his hand. “Now, let’s see if we can get this to work in reverse. You picture Mary. Make a wish, if you will. While I. . .”

Hyde was already closing his eyes, envisioning Mary. Rumpelstiltskin stretched out his gloved hand to pull Jekyll’s weakness toward them. And it worked! A successful experiment within the experiment! Mary was heading toward the bridge. When she reached the top, Hyde called to her. 

They were awkward together at first. Hyde was apologetic, even insecure. Apparently, some of Jekyll’s weakness was clinging to him. But Mary was so encouraging, Hyde soon overcame it. Then, just when things were starting to get interesting, another person sidled up to Rumpelstiltskin. Cogsworth. Probably there to nitpick on his sloppy Time Shift.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“Don’t you have your own affairs to attend to?” asked Rumpelstiltskin. 

Cogsworth understood the implication and reddened in embarrassment, but he recovered quickly. “You’re making a tragic mistake,” he said. “You’ve got to stop.”

“Why? Do you think anyone in the realm will even miss that one lost day? If you’ll excuse me, Professor, you’re not the Master of Time, no matter what you believe about yourself.”

“Neither are you, but that’s not the point. Snap us to Speranza’s. Now.”

“I don’t take orders from _you_!” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Give me one good reason I should I do _anything_ you say.”

Cogsworth looked Rumpelstiltskin squarely in the eye and answered, “Belle.”

It was the one and only thing that could have moved him. Rumpelstiltskin cast the spell immediately. When they landed in Speranza’s, not only were Sebastian and Isaac there, but so was Mrs. Lewes. The three of them were sitting in a huddle at one of the tables, sharing a wide, leather-bound book between them.

“What’s happening?” said Cogsworth, sitting down beside Sebastian and trying to get a glimpse of the book.

“Mary is following her passions,” answered Mrs. Lewes. “She’s happy. . . for now.”

She pulled away from the huddle and allowed the others to shift the book in Cogsworth’s direction. She removed a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her eyes with it.

Isaac looked up at her, aggrieved himself. “I’m so sorry, Marian. You know I never meant for this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t, Isaac,” she said, giving his hand a maternal pat. “Anyway, we all know Mary was never truly mine. She and her unfeeling father are just a victim and a villain, cast for this purpose and only this purpose.”

“The brothers are hoping to make an example of all Isaac’s collaborators,” said Sebastian. “That’s why they used my poetry as the weapon.”

“The poetry,” thought Rumpelstiltskin, remembering the Word Magic the Chamberlens pelted at him. It sent a shiver right through him. Never in his life had the Darkness so thoroughly consumed him. Since killing Milah, he always restrained himself, careful not to cross the line between fair punishment and personal revenge. . . Except, he realized, he’d slipped just earlier when he nearly choked Jekyll.

“What is happening to me here?” he asked, sinking into a chair.

“There are people out there invested in painting you as a devil,” said Isaac. “They’ve even convinced a scientist like Jekyll that such a thing exists. Yesterday, he believed the devil was a myth. Today, he thinks he’s made a deal with him. But you’re _not_ him. You’re not at all what people think you are. You just have a job to do. It’s a dirty one, but someone’s gotta do it. So resist their lies and dispense justice. Above all, remain righteous.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Rumpelstiltskin.

“Maybe so, but I’m in your corner, and so is everyone here.”

Shyly, Rumpelstiltskin looked around the table. Did he really have friends? Or were they just an assortment of people with some expertise beyond his own. Their favors were going to cost him, probably quite dearly. But he was shrewd enough to know that he needed them. 

“Just follow Belle’s lead, Mister Weaver,” advised Mrs. Lewes.

The new Name she kept addressing him with was strangely comforting, but the use of Belle’s was not. It brought a terrible sense of foreboding, and the worst part was, it came with the echo of his own cruel words: “If anyone’s going to crush your heart, it’s going to be me.”

_Yet each man kills the thing he loves._

“NOOOOO!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted, leaping from his chair and pulling out his dagger. His name lit up from his zeal alone. “I want to take an oath,” he announced. “With all of you as witnesses.”

“Not here, and not with us,” said Isaac.

“With Belle,” said Mrs. Lewes.

That did calm him, and when he sat down, a page in the book turned by itself. Everyone else huddled close in to read it. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t care that he was being left out of the loop. He’d rely on the experts.

Isaac covered his face with his hands. “Those prigs are going to punish her for this. They think she’s disgracing herself, and now she’s going to die. It’s all my fault!”

“No, Isaac,” said Mrs. Lewes, laying a hand on his shoulder, “Intelligent and passionate women have always paid the price for men’s lack of vision.”

Everyone sat in grim silence for a moment. Cogsworth was the first to speak up. “I don’t know if this helps, but now that the happy part is over, and all they’re going to do is sleep, can’t we speed up the night and make Mary’s ending come as swiftly and painlessly as possible?”

“And then send the monster to the Land of Untold Stories,” suggested Sebastian. “With any luck, this whole chapter will be forgotten there.”

“Brilliant!” agreed Isaac, as Sebastian ran upstairs to retrieve an exit portal. When he came back down with it, he handed it to Rumpelstiltskin.

“Get that to Hyde,” said Isaac. “Or Jekyll. Whoever you see first. Just scare the hell out of him till he jumps. But whatever you do, stop short of hurting him.”

“Hidden acts of kindness are the key to your happy ending,” added Mrs. Lewes.

Rumpelstiltskin understood. He turned Cogsworth into a clock. “It is now seven in the morning,” he said. Cogsworth’s arms moved forward, and the sky outside brightened.

While Rumpelstiltskin returned Cogsworth to human form, Mrs. Lewes pulled out her Author’s Pen and began scribbling furiously. She only stopped to read aloud: “ _[And Mary woke up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnOyw0L-1Tw) with Henry Jekyll lying beside her. She leapt out of bed, and after some embarrassment and confusion, he explained what happened. Accusing him of being a madman, she backed away, crashing through her window in one fell swoop_.” 

She looked up. Tears were running down her cheeks. “I haven’t written a tragic ending like this since Maggie Tulliver’s.”

“Just keep going,” said Isaac.

“ _The passersby thronged around her body_ ,” she continued. “ _Someone went to fetch Doctor Lydgate. As soon as he pronounced his cherished daughter dead, he rushed up to her apartment in hopes of catching her murderer. In the next minute, a crowd of men was chasing Hyde through the streets, but he was faster and stronger, and outran them all._ ”

Mrs. Lewes stopped reading and looked up at Rumpelstiltskin. He knew exactly what to do. He snapped himself to the lab where Hyde was hastily packing up Jekyll’s equipment.

“Going somewhere?” asked Rumpelstiltskin. “Just when things have gotten interesting. News of what you’ve done to that poor girl has spread like wildfire throughout the city. We really let that animal out of the cage, didn’t we?”

What hateful words were forcing their way out of his mouth? Mary’s murder did not “interest” him. He hadn’t freed the monster just to wreak havoc. That would make him a _worse_ monster.

“I didn’t kill Mary!” cried Hyde. “It was Jekyll!”

“You’re going to have to do better than _that_.” 

“I could never. . .” choked Hyde, breaking down into sobs. “Not to Mary.”

Then the horrible truth dawned on Rumpelstiltskin. Hyde meant every word he was saying. “You loved her,” Rumpelstiltskin realized. The serum could separate a man’s monstrosity from the rest of him, but his love carried over. It was embedded within beast and man alike. But eventually, the dreadful destiny would play out, and the brute would kill the woman he loved!

Rumpelstiltskin’s own inner monster – the Chamberlen’s monster? – took over.“How can yoube so weak?” he demanded, throwing a strangling spell over Hyde and knocking him onto his knees. “My experiment has been a waste! I should end your life right now!”

The Author’s voice beckoned him. “Show mercy!” she cried.

Rumpelstiltskin released Hyde right away, but the Dark Power continued raging. “You’ll suffer a fate worse than death!” he screamed. “You shall have to share a life with the weakness inside you!”

“No, Mister Weaver,” begged Mrs. Lewes. “Love is not weakness.”

“You know better,” said Isaac. “Get back to who you really are.”

Distracted by all the voices in his head, Rumpelstiltskin tossed the portal onto the floor in front of Hyde’s feet. The vortex began to spin. Its strength pulled Hyde right in, but before he completely disappeared, some thieving urge took over Rumpelstiltskin. Among the objects Hyde was holding was a cameo pendant. Rumpelstiltskin grabbed it, and it slipped through Hyde’s fingers just as the whirlwind pulled him away. 

The portal closed with anticlimactic finality. Standing there with a memento of someone else’s love, Rumpelstiltskin did not know what possessed him to take it. All he knew was that like Hyde, he needed to get the hell out of that realm. He snapped himself back to Speranza’s.

Isaac noticed the pendant the second he appeared. “That’s going to come back to haunt you,” he warned. “You can’t let them paint you as a crook!”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know what he could and couldn’t do anymore. He just wanted to leave. Sebastian had a peacock feather ready for him, but in his other hand was a bill. 

_In exchange for this portal, Rumpelstiltskin shall release Professor Herbert Cogsworth from his employment contract and allow him to collect his Time Machine whenever he sees fit._

“You had that planned all along,” said Rumpelstiltskin, signing the note and taking the portal.

“We never intended this tragedy,” said Isaac. “Things got out of hand.”

“Just give to others, Mister Weaver. _What do we live for if not to make the world less difficult for each other?”_

And those were the last words Rumpelstiltskin heard in the Victorian realm. As soon as Mrs. Lewes finished speaking, the portal began to spin. Like Hyde, he was sucked right through. It was his swiftest jump ever, and as he neared home, he understood why. Belle was in distress. He could hear her screams from inside the vortex.

As he got closer to his castle, the Darkest items he was carrying - the gauntlet and the stolen pendant - floated away from him and passed through the entry point.

“Into the vault,” he thought. “I never want to see either of them again.”

But when it was his turn to land, he did not wind up with his things. Instead, he found himself standing in Belle’s bedroom. All the safeguards he’d put in place to bar himself from access had lifted. He was not immobilized by squid ink, nor was he blinded by his own tears. He was there in undiminished power because Belle, though asleep, had allowed him in.

She was in the throes of a nightmare. “Hold on!” she called out, thrusting her hand over the side of the bed. It was as though she were reaching for someone. Was she in her dream state seeing Mary Lydgate hanging onto her window sill? Was Belle trying to save her somehow?

“Shhh,” whispered Rumpelstiltskin, kneeling beside Belle’s bed. He must waken her, but slowly and gradually. “Shhh.”

Very gently, careful not to shock her, Rumpelstiltskin took her outstretched hand.


	21. A Night of Magic

Belle awoke as soon as she felt Rumple’s hand in hers. His long nails and rough skin brought her right back to reality. She wasn’t back on top of that cliff in Arendelle, ignoring Anna’s cries for help. She was in the safety of her own bedroom.

“Oh,” she breathed in relief. “It was just a bad dream!”

She pulled herself up to sitting, and Rumple sat down beside her, drawing her into a close hug. His heart was pounding as fast as hers.

“You’re back early,” she said, remembering how he’d set the clock for tomorrow afternoon. “Does that mean something went wrong?”

“Yes,” he whispered as a hot teardrop rolled onto her scalp.

That unnerved her. She’d seen Rumple in the doldrums before, but she couldn’t imagine what it would take to get him to cry.

“I told you I didn’t have a good feeling about this.”

“I should have listened.”

He was holding her so tightly, it was spooking her more than her nightmare. Then, in his typically abrupt way, he pulled back. He conjured up a Dreamcatcher, and with an urgent look on his face, held it over her head. “I need to see your dream,” he told her.

She pushed his hand away. “Why? It was just an unhappy memory.”

“Are you absolutely certain? Dreams can be prophetic, you know. Perhaps you saw someone you didn’t recognize?” 

“I know my own memories, Rumple.”

“Even so,” he said, returning the Dreamcatcher to her head. She pushed back on it harder, making it fly across the room.

“Stop that. _Please_. You know how I feel about Mind Magic.”

There. She'd used one of his charmed words. Now he had no choice but to listen.

“All right, no Mind Magic,” he conceded, making the Dreamcatcher vanish. “Just tell me about your dream.”

“Tell me what happened in the Victorian realm first.”

He sighed heavily. She thought he’d dodge the question like usual, but he actually gave her an answer. “I saw the Chamberlen Brothers. It turns out, they’re not such fakers after all. They have genuine powers. Powers beyond mine.”

Just mentioning them seemed to heighten his panic. “Good Lord, your memory!” Without explanation, he weaved his fingers through her hair and began rubbing her temple with his thumb. She felt the tingle of his healing spell trickle through her. The fear and guilt of her nightmare receded. It was so comforting, she might have relaxed completely, if not for _his_ worry. In the kindliest of voices, he asked her a deeply alarming question. “Did you dream your mother’s death?”

“He’s preparing me to relive it,” she thought, her heartbeat quickening despite the calming effect of the spell. She leaned her cheek against his hand and let his caress steady her. If she really was going to remember her suppressed trauma now, she was glad he was here to go through it with her. “Didn’t you say that memory was lost forever?”

“It ought to be, but I can’t be sure of anything anymore.” 

Belle closed her eyes and braced herself, but no memories came. Her eyes fluttered open again. “I suppose it’s for the best,” she thought, sighing. Then another twinge of guilt resurfaced. She’d ruined Anna’s life, and for what? A memory she could not recover, and as Rumple said, one that she was better off without.

“But what’s troubling _him_?” she wondered. “He’s so upset, he’s breaking all his own rules.”

Immediately, he withdrew his hand and sprung up from the bed. He hadn’t seemed able to read any of her thoughts until now, but he saw right through that one. He turned to face the wall to avoid looking at her in her nightgown. “Can we continue this in the library, or do you need to go back to sleep?” ~~~~

“We can continue,” said Belle, rather sorry that the head massage was over.

He left her room without looking back. So she got up, refreshed herself, and put on a robe and slippers. When she joined him in the library, he was sitting on the couch with the candelabra flickering beside him. He was looking over a pair of his contracts. He marked them both “PAID IN FULL.”

“Cogsworth’s,” he explained, placing them on the table beside him. “One to Speranza’s and one for my records,” he said, making them disappear.

It was just like the day when Mama Bea was set free. Belle knew she ought to be happy for Cogsworth, but part of her was disappointed. He'd led such an interesting life, and he’d only just begun opening up about it. 

“I’ll miss him,” she said.

“So will I. He always kept me on the dot.”

She sat down on the couch. She had an urge to lay her head on Rumple’s shoulder, but thought the better of it. He would just shy away again. But when he took out his dagger, she understood that he was in a more serious mood than she had ever seen.

“Do you remember I once offered to take an oath for you?”

Belle nodded. “To prove you don’t control the Mind Magic in the library?”

“Well, I don’t, but this is for something much more important.” He looked at her so gravely, it spooked her all over again.

“Rumple,” she said, putting her hand on his, “You don’t need to take an oath to prove anything to me.”

“I need it for _me_ ,” he answered, getting up and aiming the dagger toward the window. Just like on the night they signed the ogre peace treaty, it collected the moonlight. The engraved letters of his name lit up in glowing silver. Belle knew she was about to witness something awesome.

“You must stand up, too,” he told her.

She obeyed, and he knelt before her like a knight errant. He offered her the hand not holding the dagger. She took it.

“I hereby swear I will never hurt you, Belle. Even if you hurt me.” He closed his eyes and shook with passion. “Even if you run away. Even if you fall in love with a man who humiliates me. No matter what Dark thoughts enter my heart – jealousy, revenge – my dagger shall direct all my magic against me and spare you completely.” 

Then, before she knew what he was doing, he let go of her hand and slashed his own wrist.

“RUMPLE!” she screamed.

“It’s nothing,” he said, letting the blood drip onto the letters of his name. The silver light disappeared, and the blood filled the letters in its place. When the dagger completely absorbed the blood, he healed his wound.

Belle was speechless. What happened in the Victorian realm that he found this ritual so necessary? There was no danger of her running away and meeting another man, much less falling in love. How could she, after living with him, and witnessing an oath of loyalty like that? No man she’d ever met had his breadth of mind and depth of soul. And the gentle strength of his magical touch! She was longing for it even now, wishing they were back in the bedroom. But the moment she thought it, the door shut with a slam.

“ _He_ did that, not me,” she realized. “He’s afraid of himself.”

They needed something to break the tension. Belle was grateful to see the teapot pop onto the table. She poured a cup and gave it to him. “Here. Things never seem quite as bleak after a cup of tea.”

Rather a meager gesture under the circumstances, but he took the cup to the couch and began drinking, if only to oblige her. She poured a cup for herself and sat beside him. The tea was the same tangy blend she and the great wizard Wu Long drank together that afternoon. He’d visited to help her translate the scroll Rumple had left her with. She was quite proud of what she’d achieved, but she assumed that sharing it could wait till morning. Now the library was making its own suggestions. “No time like the present,” it seemed to say as the original scroll and her translation appeared on the table beside the tea tray.

“You’ve been busy,” said Rumple, picking up the translation.

“You did give me an extra-long afternoon.”

She’d needed that added time. Chinese translation was difficult, even with Wu Long’s help. And there was that strict structure to adhere to! Line one must set the scene. Line two enhances the scene. Line three, the only one to break the rhyme scheme, introduces the conflict. And line four resolves the conflict. So much detail in four little lines!

But it was a heady compliment to be asked to participate in Rumple’s magical research. She watched eagerly as he read over the poem.

“By G-d, Belle, you’ve done it!” He waved his hand in the air, and the couch rotated in a full circle with them sitting on it.

“So we’re celebrating now?” she thought, as tiny colored papers showered them. It was a welcome change, but it sure was a sharp contrast.

“Where would I be without you?” he said.

She smiled. Receiving his praise gave her a different sort of pleasure than his magical touch, but it was every bit as thrilling.

“I could never have done it alone,” she admitted. “Wu Long helped me.”

“What an honor. I’ve only met him twice myself.” He handed her the translation scroll. “Ready when you are.”

“For what?”

“Are you ready to read it aloud?”

“Oh!” She didn't realize he’d ask anything more from her than translation. Reading a scroll? Did this mean she was helping him cast a spell? That was much greater than filling the teapot by wish or need or however that worked. But she wasn’t new to magic anymore. She couldn’t appear unprepared. “All right. I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not. Not in the least,” he said, cracking his first smile of the night.

If she hadn’t been so relieved to see it, his teasing would have annoyed her.

“What does this spell accomplish?” he asked, taking on the manner of a schoolmaster.

“It’s about preserving relationships in the face of magical obstacles, especially memory erasures.” She paused and began putting the pieces together. “Is _that_ what your trip was for? You went to meet that doctor, and you ran into the Chamberlens. Are you afraid they’ll come after my memories again?”

“Indeed, I _am_ afraid of that, but this spell is for a memory _curse_. That’s more complicated than erasure by potion.”

“But it comes down to the same thing. If someone tries to make me forget you –”

“Whether you forget me, or I forget you, or both, this will preserve what we are to each other. And now that I’ve taken the oath, the timing could not be better. No matter how we end up _, I_ will not hurt you.”

Perhaps that settled things for him, but she still had questions. What were they preserving exactly? They were more than just employer and employee. She considered him a mentor, though he would surely deny it, just as he would never say outright what they both knew was true. The attraction between them had become palpable. At bottom, they were a man and a woman, both discreet by nature, holding themselves back from crossing over the unpredictable precipice into love.

“I believe we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said softly, “but if it makes a difference to you, the spell will adjust itself based on future circumstances.”

“You mean, whatever stands between us now might not always?”

“Ah, the optimistic view. I can always count on you for that. Go ahead. Read the scroll.”

_Two meet. Trust dawns. Friends draw near._

_Links form. Take root. Each grows dear._

_Storm strikes. Ties break. Strewn from view._

_Lost bonds. Still cleave. Through cursed sphere_.

When Belle looked up, Rumpelstiltskin was holding an ivory statuette of an elephant in the palm of his hand. He looked as surprised to see it there as she was.

“Leave it to Wu Long to come up with such apt symbolism,” he remarked. “Elephants have the longest memories of any creature in the animal kingdom.” He handed it to her. “Keep it safe.”

Belle hadn’t expected _that_ , either. “What about your vault?”

“Magic as Light as that doesn’t belong in my vault!” he exclaimed. “That little elephant has the power to impede curses, at least partially. It belongs in _your_ care.”

“Oh,” said Belle, blushing slightly. She felt like she’d just been raised a few levels. He was showing the utmost respect for her mind and abilities. No man, other than Prosper Villeneuve, had ever treated her as anything more than a pretty princess. It was worth preserving _that_ forever, even if she had to endure all the unfulfilled physical longing that went with it.

She ran back to her room, placed the elephant in a drawer in her wardrobe, and ran back out again.

“Ready to make another?”

“Another? What for?”

“I want to assign a guard for you in case I am ever incapacitated.”

Was he expecting an attack that he was taking all these precautions? “Isn’t Brunhilde already my guard?” 

“We need someone whose behavior doesn’t need to be curtailed by the threat of a curse.”

Belle saw his point only too well. It made her wonder if he knew everything that went on in the castle, even when he was away. She'd planned on keeping it to herself, but in his absence, Brunhilde had begun taking liberties in touching her. At first, Belle thought nothing of it because Brunhilde was female, too, if not an actual woman. But Belle soon understood that Brunhilde was lusting after her, and she wasn’t bashful about expressing it. Even Gaston showed more restraint than Brunhilde. He at least expected his bride to remain chaste for the wedding night, so he observed the rules of chivalry. Brunhilde’s wandering hands got so bold that Belle inadvertently turned her back into a broomstick. Her shrill scream rebounded all over the castle. Belle was sorry to have caused her so much pain, but she brought it on herself. Brunhilde had been inanimate ever since.

“What do you say to Chief Shrek?” asked Rumple. “His loyalty to you is unbending. All the ogres regard you as their heroine.”

“ _You’re_ the real hero,” thought Belle. She rather liked the suggestion, but she didn’t want to disrupt anything in the ogres’ realm. “Doesn’t he have other responsibilities?”

“He has a designated successor in case of emergencies."

“And we don’t need him here to cast the spell?”

“No. All you have to do is envision him.” 

So Belle pictured the moment Chief Shrek kissed her hand and apologized for her mother’s death. It nearly brought her to tears. Then she read the scroll aloud again. When she was done, Rumple was holding another elephant statuette, this one bigger than the first.

“I will get this to Shrek,” he said, sending it into storage. “Now, let’s make one more. You ought to have a woman friend. Not Mrs. Potts, though. This spell could get unwieldy if we involve a married woman. How about the friend who gave you the blue dress?”

“Gabrielle is married, too, and. . .” 

Her voice quavered and trailed off. Though she was wide awake, the remnants of her nightmare ricocheted right back onto her. She suddenly felt herself on that cliff again, reaching for the memory stone instead of for Anna. What a horrid friend she was! The guilt overwhelmed her. She burst out crying.

Rumple leapt off the couch and knelt before her once again. He conjured a handkerchief and held it out to her. "Shh, Belle, shh," he cooed soothingly. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have asked so much of you in one night.”

She bucked up a little at the sound of her name, but her guilt was stronger. She tried explaining herself, but through her sobs, her story came out in a jumble. “I’m sorry. . . It’s just that. . . my friend. . . in my dream. . . When I got the memory stone, _she_ paid the price, not me. And it’s all my fault!”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed harder.

“Belle, _please_ take the handkerchief. It’s been treated with ashwagandha. That’s a potion for renewed vigor.”

Belle looked up, took the handkerchief, and sniffled into it. The smell was awful. She could tell he’d poured rosewater onto it to mask the odor, but it didn’t quite do the trick. The handkerchief stank like a stable.

“Horse sweat,” he told her. “It’s the active ingredient. Be glad I didn’t make you drink it.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“It is.” He gave her a moment to quiet down and then returned to his place on the couch. “Now, tell me if I have this right. You acquired a memory stone with a friend’s help. Why that particular friend? Did she have some prior connection to magic?”

Belle nodded. Skipping over how she’d run away from home, been introduced to the Grand Pabbie, and behaved so shamefully toward the friend who had helped her, she jumped right to Anna’s capture. “Her aunt is a witch. She took my friend prisoner. All because I –”

“Hush,” Rumple interrupted. “You must stop blaming yourself. Witches are conniving. She probably had designs against her niece for a long while. You were just the unfortunate soul who created the opening. But I assure you, it would have happened without you. Witches always find a way.” 

Belle wasn’t convinced. She could never truly be at peace with herself until she knew that Anna was free and safe.

“I did ask Blue to help, but she said –”

“Let me guess. She refused to intervene in a family matter. Every family must repair its own wounds.” His eyes briefly flashed in anger.

“There was more to it than that,” said Belle, drying the last of her tears. “Blue said her intervention could touch off a bigger fight. She made it sound almost like a magical war. So I was afraid that if –”

“That if you involved me, I would make things worse?”

He did not seem offended.

“Now, you see, here is where people underestimate the value of a deal. There’s no need for a fight if everyone gets something they want. All it takes is the right offer.”

Belle was still apprehensive. “But. . . magic always comes with a price.”

“Quite right,” said Rumple. “and I owe you for our elephant.”

Belle would have guessed that one elephant paid for the other, but if he wasn’t going to charge her, she wasn’t about to quibble.

“Oh, Rumple! I never should have doubted you!”

She didn’t stop herself this time. She leaned her head on his shoulder. She would have been content to stay in that position forever.

“We’ll take care of this after you’ve rested up, Belle. It’s been an exhausting night for you. Let’s stretch out the end of it, hmm?”

“Can you do that without Cogsworth?” she asked, as a blanket covered her and an ottoman tucked itself under her feet.

“A simple Time Shift like this? Of course! The sun shall not rise until Belle has caught up on her sleep.”

“Oh, Rumple!”

“Oh, Belle.”

She closed her eyes. “If only he would stroke my hair again,” she thought. But she did not want to seem demanding. She was already asking plenty by getting his help for Anna. Even still, she couldn’t resist curling up close to him before drifting off to sleep. And when her eyes blinked open again to a brightening sky, she could not tell how much time had passed, but she saw he had not budged an inch.

“Better now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She straightened up, and the blanket and ottoman disappeared. Now she felt refreshed and ready to take on the problem. Picturing the snow-capped mountains of Arendelle, she realized that Rumple would have to go away again. For a moment she was disappointed, but she quickly perked up. “Perhaps he’ll take me along!” she thought. After all, she really needed to see Anna in person – to ask for forgiveness.

But before she got a chance to say another word to Rumple, Brunhilde invaded their privacy by popping into the library. Her body was restored, and she was wearing her helmet and shield. “Your wish is my command!” she announced, kneeling before Belle like Rumple had.

“B-but I didn’t activate you,” Belle stammered.

“You must have. I’m not responding to _him._ ” She jerked her thumb at Rumple with contempt.

He reacted with nothing more than cool indifference. “Well, well,” he observed. “It seems this task has fallen to you.”

“Indeed,” retorted Brunhilde, standing back up. “So go toddle off to your brewing room so that Belle and I can discuss it ourselves.”

“No!” cried Belle, reluctant to be left alone with Brunhilde. Instantly, Brunhilde’s body became stiff as a broomstick, though her human shape remained.

Brunhilde’s blue-grey eyes turned as hard and blazing as iron. “Immobilize me if you will,” she spat, “but _I_ am the one best equipped to fulfill your wish. If that weren’t so, I wouldn’t be awake.”

Belle hoped Rumpelstiltskin would contradict this, but he did not.

“Evidently, you’re correct,” he said. “But don’t think you’re leaving this castle to do battle for Belle until you’ve given her a full reckoning.” He snapped a pair of contracts into his hand. “It’s high time she understood the precise nature of your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious about how to write a Chinese style poem in English, there's a video on YouTube to teach you how: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P719UYi6uRQ&t=960s

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I may edit after I've published. Please bear with me. Also, I'd love to have an illustrator to help me with this story. Please let me know if you're interested.


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